<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Atonement and Enticement by tealgreenhealingbeam</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954581">Atonement and Enticement</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealgreenhealingbeam/pseuds/tealgreenhealingbeam'>tealgreenhealingbeam</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(And Tommy's GNC and uses he/she/they!), (Benrey is They/Themrey), (Gordon's trans and uses he/him), (I meet both criteria.), (Kind of a fix-it? A fix-it if you're gay and lonely.), (Something is wrong with me ❤️), (Specific warnings for each chapter given in the summary!), (This is almost definitely out of character. Sorry.), Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Not A Game AU, Not Beta Read, Other, Teen rated for swearing and depictions of violence and such!, We have hit novel length. Sweet Jesus.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:21:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>70,127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954581</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealgreenhealingbeam/pseuds/tealgreenhealingbeam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The betrayal completely throws the Science Team for a loop. Turns out that regrouping is the easy part. Getting everyone back on the same page and back to an understanding is less so.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Benrey/Gordon Freeman/Tommy Coolatta, Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>226</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! First, if you're reading this, that's fantastic and thank you! This is the first time I've ever posted a fanfic, and first time I've posted on this site. If I'm doing things wrong, like there's a tag I'm missing or a warning I didn't give, please let me know and I'll fix it ASAP!<br/>For starters: The title of this fic isn't exactly on Neil Gaiman levels and I promise I'm aware of that, but I never originally planned on posting this, much less giving it a proper name. Secondly: this entire thing is incredibly self-indulgent. I'm kind of going Through It right now and for some reason, this time around, my brain wanted me to write to cope! And what better to write about than the series I've loved and have been projecting onto? So, here we are!<br/>If even one person interacts with this positively, I'll likely post more! I might anyway, but I'll definitely be much more likely to if I see that posting it here had a purpose, y'know? I hope to at least reach the end of the canon story with the birthday party, but if things go well and I feel like I can keep it up, I'll try and add on at least another chapter about their continued lives outside of the series! </p><p>Hope that this ramble made sense... thank you for reading!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings for this chapter in roughly chronological order: graphic depictions of violence, unsafe usage of drugs (HEV suit morphine), descriptions of injury and illness, descriptions of medical treatment (not professional-sounding in the slightest), emetophobia, impromptu kiss (consent can be read as dubious; Gordon makes it clear, especially later on, that he was for it. A warning just in case), mentions of a needle (blood transfusion), non-detailed depiction of the beginnings of a panic attack, self-hating thoughts.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>   "Uh, and if they find the body?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   "Body? What body?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Both soldiers hauling Gordon down the hallway laugh.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Gordon's only barely managed to keep himself conscious by lolling his head side to side, trying to piece together the world around him from the fragments and disconnected parts it comes through in, and by trying to focus on his five senses as they fade in and out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Taste:</em> blood. Blood that burns as it drips down the back of his throat. Blood pooling behind his teeth. Blood settling heavy in his stomach.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Smell:</em> this odorous, awful rust that stings his nostrils alongside what spills from it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Hearing</em>: the endless, rapid drip, drip, drip from his arm spattering onto the tile. The piercing ringing that only seems to grow louder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Touch.</em> His arm is aflame, screaming, clawing, wailing with unspeakable pain. With everything else overwhelming his senses, he simultaneously feels every ounce of agony and hardly feels anything at all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Sight. </em>He leaves a trail of saturated red behind them, smears and droplets and pools. Gordon foggily wonders how much he’s lost. How much he continues to lose. How much it matters.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Vit-t-tal signs crit... ical. Seek medical-- atten-ntion." </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>He's not nearly coherent enough to even think sarcastically in reply. It's like every part of body is trying to reboot and attempt to process what the fuck's just happened to him, though keeping his eyes open is a losing battle. The muscles of Gordon's neck go completely slack, head bobbing down as he slips into unconsciousness. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    From where they're watching outside the walls, Benrey feels their chest tighten oppressively, nails digging hard into their palms. <em>Shit, shit, shit. If you're gonna fix this, it's now or never.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They clip into the corridor behind the marines. It doesn't take much for Benrey to make their body distort and bend- especially when they're already <em>plenty</em> motivated. One mangled, bugging arm flies down the length of the hallway, finds purchase along the left soldier's neck, and snaps in a single motion. No time for the man on the right to even react before Benrey's right arm shoots out and their hand clamps hard around his throat. This <em>vile</em> fuck... he's not about to get the easy way out. Doesn't deserve it. No, Benrey was able to see everything when the lights went out, and the still-slick combat knife along his belt told them that this is the <em>exact</em> guy they think he is.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey knows they don't have time to pay him back for every single thing he did to Gordon, so Benrey tells themself they'll just have to <em>settle</em>. A third arm unfurls from below their ribs, and after removing the knife from its sheath, they duplicate it. A second copy. A third. A fourth. In the time it takes to breathe in and out, a good fifteen or twenty knives now hover in a low, pulsing hum, almost stuttering in anticipation waiting for Benrey's direction. The frantic and furious pulse of the marine thrums below their hand and burrows deep into the gray matter between their ears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Like a mental thread snapping, every knife shoots forward, sinking and snapping past vein and muscle and bone with the most satisfying ripping and popping and churning Benrey's ever heard. The knives thrust through with enough force to pin the marine to the wall like a butterfly behind glass. The <em>sound</em> it makes... an animalistic part of Benrey's brain wants to listen to it over and over, and they cave, clipping and looping the sound over the hallway speakers while walking the remaining distance between them and Gordon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Benrey doesn't realize how worked up they've gotten until their own ragged breathing catches up with their racing thoughts. They gingerly touch their face, and take note of that familiar cold, static feeling that accompanies the bending and twisting of form. Benrey takes the time and wills themself to calm, if for nothing else than for the dozens of eyes and the too-wide mouth to disappear. If he comes to again, they can't and don't want to imagine what sort of reaction Gordon would have-- Fuck, <em>Gordon</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey runs and drops down in front of Gordon, hands trembling above his shoulders. <em>What now?</em> They didn't think that far ahead. <em>Make 'em dead, don't let them take Gordon.</em> That's as far as their planning went. They don't know the first thing about the human body or how to keep it from being not dead. What they do know is that <em>that</em>... Benrey's head throbs looking down at the remnants of Gordon's right arm. They swallow and force themself to look away. What they do know is that people only get one set of limbs. A free trial, then you're done. Gordon's not getting that arm back. They had seen shows on breakroom TVs where characters wrap up a leg or an arm, albeit still <em>attached</em>, in what looked like an incomprehensible criss-cross of bandages, combined with terminology about medications to use, what type of trauma had occurred, and Benrey wants to scream into their hands about how fucking stupid they were to not pay better attention to any of it. Maybe <em>some of it</em> would have been helpful here, even the small shit, but they wouldn't know! </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Leaning in this close, Benrey can just make out the voice of the HEV suit. "<em>Internal bleeding... det-tected. Blood loss... detected. Morphine administered.</em> <em>Morph-ine... administ-- ered."</em> That's good, right? Well, definitely not the first two parts, and not hearing the voice clip multiple times in a row as it slows and stutters, but the fact that the suit’s still working enough to release the medication in the first place. Benrey can’t be sure, but they figure the torturous levels of pain he's experiencing and the suit not being equipped for dismemberment is probably throwing the systems for one hell of a loop. Benrey counts four times the suit affirms releasing a dosage before the prompt cuts off abruptly. Must be out of juice. They watch on while assuming the medication is now flooding Gordon's system. His clenched jaw gradually loosens and lets a shaky exhale pass his lips, sharp furrow of his brows softening minutely as the trembling in his shoulders slows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   He looks... awful. Usage of the word being extremely generous. Awful doesn't begin to cover the horrible dread that crawls everywhere in Benrey's body when they look at Gordon. Blood is pooling around him far, far too fast, spilling from his arm, nose, and mouth with no signs of stopping. Gashes, welts, and bruises take up almost every inch of his face, one eye swollen shut and the second well on its way. His glasses are strewn with cracks along the lenses, faults thinner than hair. Sweat smears and thins the blood as both roll down his face. His breathing, coming through in short, sharp gasps, echoes down the halls and makes Benrey's stomach drop further with each inhale and exhale.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   It wasn't supposed to be like this. <em>Then what the fuck was it "supposed" to be like?</em> they scream internally. <em>Did you think they were gonna just slap him on the wrist and move on? Like they weren't gonna take the chance to get to the man they've hunted down exhaustively and </em><b><em>not </em></b><em>beat him halfway to death?</em> Tears are welling hot and fast, but Benrey blinks them away and refuses to continue feeling sorry for themself.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Wait... the medical stations. The first aid kits. They had been dotting the rooms the whole way here. They just have to find one that hasn't been touched. <em>Find one, and it'll be fine. It has to be fine.</em> They lean forward, pulling Gordon's body to theirs and scooping him up in a sort of bridal-style, briefly imagining how he'd tease them for this if he was awake. <em>Awake...</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Benrey recalls someone in a game begging their dying friend to stay with them, that they couldn't close their eyes until help arrived, and panic tears through them in a swell. Do they need to do that here? <em>Fuck... god, fuck... it can't hurt, right?</em> Benrey quickly props him atop a crate and scans his features again. His breathing, although extremely rapid and shallow, <em>is</em> there, and his eyebrows are still knitted together tight. His remaining hand sometimes balls itself into a fist unconsciously, straining and twitching before relaxing again. Even taking notice of these motions, he's far too still for comfort.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's thoughts are branching off in a hundred different directions, and they can't weigh their options and really think through the best way of doing things, so they just go with whatever comes to mind first. A shaking hand slides up the side of Gordon's face, sweat and blood quickly pooling against their Benrey’s palm. If it wasn't for the looming possibility of his death hanging above them, they feel more than content to keep their hand where it lies. To just... hold him. Keep him close. Benrey shakes their head fervently. <em>Not! The! Time!</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They pat their hand against Gordon's cheek, once, twice, with the gentlest hand Benrey thinks they've ever extended. No change. They inhale sharply, count down from three, and put more force behind their hand. The sound of contact reverberates off the walls and creeps its way deep in their head, stewing in the festering guilt and self-hatred.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon <em>finally</em> stirs, eyes opening so slowly that it's clearly taking every ounce of effort he has. Benrey's heart swells. They want to pull him in close, want to whisper praise, soft and real, tell him how unbelievably strong he is, how incredible he is to still be here, how he has to keep doing it- for the people lost to Black Mesa, for the Science Team, for his son. Those words don't come.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yo, you're not- can't die, man. Can't. Keep your eyes open." <em>Real nice,</em> Benrey thinks. Maybe that'll piss Gordon off enough to stay alive, if for nothing else than to yell at them for being so insensitive. <em>Maybe that's what I want</em>, they wonder. He's never been seriously angry with them before, but maybe they want that to change. Maybe Benrey wants Gordon to scream at them, tell them how much he hates them, blame them for everything that's happened up to this point. Would that make them feel better? Either of them? Benrey doesn't know, but they would take it all with a smile if it meant getting to hear his voice, conscious and coherent and alive.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Instead of anger, or confusion, or anything they would have expected, they watch a bleary, exhausted smile settle onto Gordon's marred features.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "Benrey." </em>After all the screaming he's done, Gordon's voice is raw, sounding like he's swallowed sandpaper, but still so <em>soft</em>. Benrey doesn't think they deserve that gentleness, even if it's all he can evoke. Relief trickles through in the most infinitesimal amount, but it's enough for the tears that threatened to spill over before to follow through. Benrey briefly buries their face in their hands, chokes back the heavier sobs, and raise their head to meet Gordon's eyes and return his gentle grin. They both stay that way for only a few seconds at best, but the moment bleeds out into space and time infinitely, and Benrey swears up and down they’d sooner die permanently before they ever forget it. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Their smile slips away as does Gordon's consciousness.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No, hey, no-" Benrey babbles, hands on his shoulders and shaking desperately. His eyelids open for a second only to slide right back down. Hand heavy with guilt, they again raise their right palm to his left cheek. When Benrey makes contact, harder than they really mean to, the world immediately feels like a smaller, darker place when Gordon doesn't make the faintest movement or sound.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Fuck!"</em> Benrey wrenches their hands into their vest. They want to curl up in a corner, scream and bawl and weep until they can't anymore, but Gordon's still present, too rapid breathing pulls them out of their head and back to reality. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    He's still here. He still needs help. You're the only one around. You're the only one who can.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Benrey feels like they're sitting outside themself, watching as their body slides Gordon off the crate and onto their back, looping their arms around his legs and hoisting him up. The dead weight of his body and the way the HEV suit digs into their skin and scrapes against their spine snaps Benrey back to the present. Gordon, even somewhere deep in the throes of unconsciousness, has the sense to cling closer to the new warmth against him, face burrowing into the crook of Benrey's neck and shoulder. Freezing in place, face instantly tinging pink, Benrey briefly worries they'll drop him altogether, but every other cell in their body screams and urges them forward, and so they hold on.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Since his face is the only part of him not covered by the HEV suit, their current position means Benrey can now feel Gordon's skin against their own. He's both far too warm and far too cold. <em>A fever,</em> they place it. <em>A bad one</em>. His forehead and cheeks are incessantly hot, hotter than they've ever been from the exertion of combat or the dumb back-and-forths he got into with Benrey, but his chin and neck are practically frigid in comparison. Benrey focuses in on listening, waiting to pick up on his heartbeat. It takes them longer than usual, making the nausea in their stomach churn, but they find it. It's <em>far</em> quieter than they're used to hearing from him, but beating too fast. It's as if every part of Gordon is contradicting itself, existing as two opposites simultaneously. Everything is <em>wrong.</em> They don’t have a second to waste.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As they develop a rhythm and stability in carrying him, it doesn't take long at all before Benrey is bending wildly down the halls, eyes scanning listlessly for a familiar red and white. Like a lighthouse beacon in the midst of a violent storm, they see it, and if they ever bought into the idea of a higher power, would think that this room's been placed here just for them. A medical station casts a dull light across the space of something akin to a small nurse's office, and a partially stocked cabinet glints in the glow. Gauze, alcohol and peroxide, medical journals and professional magazines... They could cry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey sets Gordon onto an office chair as gently as possible, rolling it over to the same wall the medical station occupies. They scarcely paid attention when Gordon would use the machines or encourage another to use it themselves, but one thing he said before fortunately comes to mind: <em>Just put your hand in there, and squeeze.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Slowly, Gordon's hand is maneuvered into the open slot, and Benrey grips his elbow. Even unconscious, this thankfully works, and the twitch of reflexes is enough to kick the machine into action. Turning around too fast, Benrey falls into the cabinet as they go to open it. They scoop up everything they can carry, anything that looks like it could be used here, and sets to work tearing through the journals and magazines. Wondering if something even close to this would be found in the pages, Benrey's grip on the journal tightens when they hear motion from someplace behind them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Turning fast enough to induce whiplash, Benrey's eyes meet Gordon's. The one sensible part of their head still working knows they need to keep reading, to look through the supplies, to return Gordon's hand to the medical station, to do <em>anything</em> useful in stopping him from bleeding out, but their body moves on its own.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    In an instant, Benrey's on their feet, and Gordon is in their arms. Their fingers crowd tight into the seams of the armor, almost like they're scared that if they let go, he'll slip from their hands and out of reach for good. Gordon's remaining arm only limply hangs over their back, eyes glazed over, mind not even caught up to the fact that he's conscious yet, but that's fine with Benrey. He's still <em>conscious. </em>They can't be sure how long they both stay that way, but only when the continuing sound of blood splattering onto the tile returns is Benrey jolted back into action, returning Gordon's hand to the med station and turning back to the journals.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Only a second later, the station beeps in finality, and its light vanishes from the room. <em>Fuck, fuck, no.</em> A now familiar dread rapidly overtakes the gentle warmth their interaction with Gordon left, and Benrey is rendered unbearably lightheaded. The station hasn't been working for long, and with despair, Benrey realizes it must not have had a full charge from the start. Back to the journals. Further frantic reading continues, a few paragraphs about shock, interviews with surgeons-- here! A section completely dedicated to impromptu field treatment, and front and center is how to assemble a tourniquet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Again feeling like they're watching from the sidelines while their body moves separately, Benrey loosens their tie, unfastens the security baton from their belt, and takes their small handful of keys off the ring. They remove the remaining arm plating and hike up the undersuit beneath. Eyes constantly darting between their hands and to the book at their side, several attempts later, Benrey's staring down at their first, and hopefully last, makeshift tourniquet. Not really having the mental capacity to feel proud or accomplished, they instead return their gaze to Gordon, hoping beyond hope that they'll meet his eyes, conscious, maybe even lucid, watching on. They do, but it's not like they're really looking <em>at</em> him. It's as if he's not really there, and Benrey isn't sure if that's better or worse. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Suddenly, something cuts through his fog, and Gordon swings his head down to face his right arm. Whether seeing the carnage itself or having the sight be the tipping point isn't clear, but he heaves and curls inward. Benrey quickly leans for the trash bin, barely holding it out in offer before Gordon latches onto it and expels what has to be everything in his system. Benrey knows he hasn't eaten in a while, so they can't imagine what this is meant to accomplish, sure that this new discomfort is mixing with all the rest in a miserable cocktail.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   They choose to idly run their fingers over Gordon's where their hands meet on the bin's rim, wondering if the suit allows just enough sense of touch that he can take notice, maybe even find comfort in it. <em>Romantic,</em> Benrey offers themself, and almost laughs at the thought.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Giving it more time, until it seems he can't possibly throw up anything else, Benrey is able to coax Gordon upright again. They give the tourniquet a once-over, and are relieved to find that it's been able to stay in place despite the unexpected movement, and the steady blood flow has just started to taper off. Sighing and stretching out, Benrey's foot nudges something-- oh. A bottle of peroxide. It feels like both their brain and heart skip a beat. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A death by infection sounds like more of a nightmare than death by blood loss. There's zero chance a bootboy knife is sterile, not to mention what <em>else</em> the guy could've done with it before using it on Gordon. The thought of causing him further pain leaves a horrible taste in Benrey's mouth, but they feel that this is gravely needed. Not letting themself become lost in the guilt of it, Benrey twists off the cap, peels the seal, and mumbles a few words of warning before beginning to pour.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon immediately kicks outward, entirely on reflex, and Benrey only narrowly dodges. Gordon's teeth grate on each other as he tries and fails to bite back screams. Benrey uses their free hand to grip the shoulder that isn't ruined, hoping it'll ground him amidst this new downpour of agony. Gordon's hand immediately reaches out and grips their wrist tight, then slides their hand up from his shoulder to his cheek, where he can <em>actually</em> feel it. Benrey immediately goes red and almost drops the peroxide, but they don't protest. One of Gordon's swollen eyes opens just a sliver, searching for reassurance, and Benrey gives it to him, and they will, every time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    After the bottle is drained, the tension in Gordon's muscles follows, shoulders slumping and head thudding dully against the wall behind him. Heavy breathing racks his body, alongside waves of chills and nausea that make his eyes clamp shut. Not really thinking about it, Benrey asks one of the dumbest questions they can ever recall asking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   "You good?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon sucks in a painful breath through his teeth, gives them a look too muddled with too many feelings to be readable. After trying and failing to speak, he only gives a shaky nod in reply. Benrey finds themself releasing a long sigh they didn't know they've been holding on to.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Fuck,"</em> they mumble in a gravelly laugh. "Givin' me a run-around today. You're..." Even mock anger is exhausting. It's not exactly like they need sleep, but fatigue is still a feeling that finds its way to them every now and then, and this is then.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Benrey snaps back to attention upon hearing a strangled noise from Gordon's direction, only realizing after jumping at it that that was him trying to <em>laugh along with them</em>. The fact that he shoved his pain aside, pushed through the exhaustion, and in some part thought of <em>them</em> as motive to make himself laugh along... it makes Benrey's heart settle hard in their chest. An uncomfortable thing. A pretty wonderful thing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon takes notice of their reaction, an eyebrow raised in silent question.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Nah, nah, we're good. You're- it's fine."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon only nods in reply, busying himself with gradually releasing the tension in his shoulders and back. The flow from his arm has now slowed to a light trickle, but having blood dripping be the only sound filling the silence unnerves both of them. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As Benrey opens their mouth to speak, Gordon cries out, short and sharp, leaning forward and head buried in his hand. Benrey's immediately on their feet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Shit, what's- what's wrong? Where is it?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "My- <em>GH!"</em> Gordon cards his hand through his hair tighter and tighter, tugging hard. The pain radiating from his scalp is all but a dull prickle against the misery of his missing right hand. Benrey's already pieced things together and moves to the small sink against the far wall. "H-head... my head! <em>Fff</em>-fuck!" Carefully, they unwind Gordon's hand from his hair, filling the empty space with a cracked mug of water, a bottle of painkillers readied in their other hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You gotta- you need these. You'll be good, you just need t-" Benrey freezes in their own wording. <em>You'll be good? </em>They sound like such an asshole. <em>Been real</em> <em>good at that so far, though</em>. Now too far in their own head berating themself, Benrey wordlessly holds out the medicine at arm's length. They pull it right back, though, realizing with embarrassment that Gordon doesn't really have the agency to push down and twist the cap at once. They quickly do it for him, and again hold out the bottle in offer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Shaking massively, dropping his first handful, Gordon finally manages to get them down. Returning his head to his hand as the pain ebbs, a barely functioning part of his brain wants to thank Benrey for everything. Their patience, how attentive and careful they've been... </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon finds a very incessant, very pleasant warmth lying in his chest when he thinks on them in this way, and he's now very unsure of what to do about it. Continuing to let himself indulge in these thoughts consoles Gordon, comforts him more than he's ever remembered being at any other point after the Resonance Cascade. It might be calming him down a bit too well. Before even realizing it was happening, he's again started to nod off, small smile on his lips as he does.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Benrey doesn't have it in themself to hurt him again, even if it's for his sake, they just <em>can't,</em> so they instead place their hand atop Gordon's and squeeze. It's enough, and he snaps to attention again, beaming at them and trying to say something appreciative that just comes out in mumbles and sighs. Taking a pause, looking between Benrey and the floor, almost nervously, he seems to make up his mind on something. On what, Benrey doesn't know. Then, with two words, Gordon completely derails any thoughts they've been trying to wrangle back on track.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Thank you," he wheezes, and adjusts himself with difficulty in his seat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    Thank you. Thank you... thank you... thank you...</em> Benrey feels that they're the last living thing on earth or in the furthest reaches of space that warrant his gratitude, and still, here they are receiving it. The simplest words aren't finding themselves coming together to even <em>begin</em> to tell him why they don't deserve this, so they instead choose to just... stare. Stare at Gordon, or through Gordon, with open fondness, and wonder how they ever got so lucky to have their paths cross.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Looking back on this next moment, Benrey can never explain to themself or to anyone else how stupid and ill-timed this decision was. How selfish and shitty it was of them to not have the presence of mind or self-control to stop themself. The world is quite possibly ending, and in this near pitch dark office, stained heavily in both sight and smell with blood, there sits two quiet people, lost in the moment and unsure of how to find their way out of it. Some abstracted part of Benrey's head decides it knows how to proceed. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They raise their hands up, behind Gordon's neck, and draw him forward with soft insistence, further and further in, until their lips meet. Gentle, sincere, and time stands still.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Whether it's his steep quantity of lost blood, the growing fear that his life isn't far from ending, or his own growing affection for them, Gordon can't bring himself to pull away, and can only find himself sinking in further.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    In another time, maybe sometime in the future, maybe in a different timeline altogether, they'll kiss, and Benrey won't taste blood, or smell the repulsive rust that clings to Gordon in a cloud, or feel the trembling beneath their hands now cupped on either side of his face. <em>I don't deserve that</em>, Benrey thinks to themself. This singular moment is already more than they could've ever hoped for.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Maybe they were both pressed together too long, and his very present lightheadedness has reached a peak, but when they both draw back, Gordon slumps forward. Still dazed and detached from the kiss, Benrey's seemingly forgotten to feel fear until their arms are filled with Gordon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hey! No, no— hey!" They sink to the floor with him, pulling his torso onto their lap and scouring his body for anything other injury that needs immediate attention. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He looks so pitifully weak, troubling Benrey in a way they've never felt before and can only pray they won't feel again. His rapid, shallow breathing has reached a crescendo, and from the external side that can be observed, the fever seems to be intensifying, chills traversing their way through Gordon frequently and growing longer. Benrey only hopes a fever has to get worse before it gets better, and they turn to gleam the room for anything else that could help. Their gaze settles on a mini fridge, and, carefully, they move his head onto the floor to root through its contents.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Fuck yeah, an ice pack. These taste like shit, so Benrey's never understood the appeal, but it's cold, and if you're warm... that'd probably feel good, right? Thoughts not continuing in any useful direction, they lay the pack where the heat of the fever seems its strongest, his forehead, and Gordon immediately replies with the most grateful-sounding little hum a person could possibly make while minutely leaning into the contact. Benrey is going to fucking combust. Turning away fast, again looking into the fridge, they take notice of something pushed completely against the back. A blood pack.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Eyes returning to Gordon, Benrey's now fully aware of how dangerously pale he is. God, of course he would be. How didn't they notice sooner? Even with the flush of the fever, he's rivaling the off-white tile under them, and looking even closer, has a blue tint coloring his lips. There's now a clear, important question to ask. <em>Do the med stations replace lost blood?</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Figuring there's no harm now that it's empty, Benrey stands and plunges their nails-turned-claws deep into the front of the charger and yanks the panel away. Even the shrill cry of metal isn't enough to get anything beyond a soft groan from Gordon in response. Benrey tells themself they're not thinking of that right now. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Inside is a crowded network of tubes and wiring, a sort of piping system from the user port to storage containers, nested in every free space the machine had not already filled by computer boards and coils and tubes. Across several beakers, the labels are scrutinized. Antibiotics, pain relievers, and then, most relieving of all, a housing of different blood types.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Returning to the section about treatment in the field, they find brief reprieve in a paragraph about blood transfusions. <em>Making sure that what is to be used in the transfusion is compatible with the person being treated is surprisingly easy to forego when alone and panicked, and it is a fairly common mistake those offering treatment make: assuming any blood type will be-- </em>Fuck, this shit has <em>types?</em> Benrey can't really spare the brain power to do more than rake their eyes down the side of the blood pack, where they see "O+" scrawled in thick, blocky lettering. Returning back to the paragraph... <em>they're in business!</em> O positive blood can be utilized by almost everyone with minimal ill consequence, and reward now greatly outweighs risk.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Not waiting a second more, Benrey unwinds the tubing gathered at the bottom until fully extended. Oh, wait- the bag's going to have to be elevated for the blood to be taken down by gravity. Finding pushpins in the desk drawer, Benrey decides their best choice is to just kind of... pin the bag to the wall above him. There's not really another option that could worked better, even if the set-up looks more than a little odd.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   When that's finished, Benrey falls backwards onto the floor rather than sitting. They're done. With what they have and what they know, they've done everything they can for Gordon right now, and that's both relief and frustration. Relief in that the worst of it is letting up, but frustration in that they feel it isn't nearly enough. He still has to be hurting horribly, morphine and pain killers aside.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Pangs of guilt and remorse continually make themselves known, and Benrey chooses to ward them off by returning to Gordon and moving his head onto their lap. He seems to wince and shift a bit once set down. Confused, it takes a moment before Benrey figures that laying directly back on a ponytail probably isn't very comfortable. Breath hitching, they use one hand to hold Gordon's head up while the other gently works the hair tie loose.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey is immediately tempted to throw away the elastic and just pretend they lost it. They've jokingly accused him of crime and wrong-doing before, but now Benrey's sure Gordon being <em>this</em> handsome is breaking a law <em>somehow.</em> He has no right looking as good as he does, notably considering he's been rapping on death's door for over an hour now. His curls sprawl outwards over their legs and partially onto the floor, strands of gray catching the muted light from the hall and gleaming like silver. Benrey finds themself wishing for a hairbrush, wishing their fingers didn't snag on mats and clumps of blood as their hands labor through his hair. They wish for a day where they can take care of him, and it won't be when he's halfway dead in their arms.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Suddenly, Gordon startles awake. Instead of the exhausted fondness he's been regarding them with, his eyes instead flood with undiluted terror.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Ben... <em>Benrey?</em> What the fffff- No, no, no, no, no, don't- I can't--" Gordon stutters, holding up his arms defensively and sliding off their lap as he starts to sob. "N-no more. Don't let th- <em>please</em> don't hurt me." That last part is barely audible, but it hits Benrey <em>hard</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They can't even try to work out a reply. <em>Does Gordon not remember </em><b><em>any </em></b><em>of it?</em> Benrey's pretty sure they just spent the last hour doing quite the <em>opposite</em> of hurting, his fear so out of left-field that they're left aghast and speechless. He's now trying to pull himself away and up, needle ripped from his arm without him so much as flinching. Benrey can't stop him in time. He gets onto his feet far too fast, and even if he took it slow, the faintness brought on by excessive morphine and blood loss would have taken their toll one way or another.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon immediately sways and collides hard with the medicine cabinet. The doors splinter and crack, glass pattering almost musically to the tile below. A shard still stuck in the frame cuts into his cheek and temple. Benrey stands to help, but Gordon backs himself into a corner, trembling ferociously.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "D- don't be... get... closer. Stay... where y- there," his words come through like machine gun fire, brain diffuse with horror. Snaking his left hand down to grasp above his severed limb, Gordon's fingers bump against the security baton holding the tourniquet taut. He looks between his arm and Benrey, expression unsure and confused. He isn’t afforded another second to process as he sways again, blood loss ebbing and returning harder. Gordon's unconscious before he hits the floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey can only watch him crumple in a heap before them. They couldn't have willed themself to act fast enough if they tried. His nose resumes bleeding, and he's landed on some of the glass, tallying onto the copious wounds that already cover his face. Benrey winces and turns away, feelings overwhelming and chest impossibly heavy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon doesn't remember <em>anything.</em> The care, the talks, <em>the... </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    What's worse, he's <em>completely</em> terrified of them. Benrey knows it's more than justified, but it still wounds them, more than they thought it would. Vulnerability isn't something an invulnerable being experiences often.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>The Science Team,</em> Benrey thinks dimly. <em>I need to get him back to the Science Team</em>. They'll keep him safe... won't they? None of them really seemed to want what happened to Gordon to have happened at all, so maybe... maybe they'll be willing to help him now. They're sure Tommy will, at least. He's grown fond of Gordon fairly fast, and they're sure Gordon returns the sentiment. Benrey hopes Gordon can put trust in Tommy where he can't with them. Their chest aches with the thought.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Numbly, Benrey collects Gordon into a pile of trembling limbs, heading down and out the hallway. As they walk, focusing intently on every sight and sound around them, Benrey can't help but continue stealing despairing glances at the man in their arms. <em>Why does it have to be like this? Why did he have to forget?</em> The mostly inactive logical side of their brain reminds them that the major injury and medication combined is enough for Gordon to forget his own fucking <em>name</em>, let alone the last hour the two of them have spent together. It still stews bitterly in Benrey, and they hate themself for being upset with him. The man's just had an arm severed in one of the most painful ways it possibly could have been, something that's <em>their</em> fault, and they're <em>pouting</em> for Gordon being <em>scared</em> of them? Like he has <em>more than enough</em> of a right to be? </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    I'm fucking pathetic,</em> Benrey bemoans inwardly. <em>Nothing new, then,</em> their thoughts echo back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> This internal back and forth is enough distraction for their pace to slow considerably, taking up time they don’t have, so after getting a tighter grip on Gordon, both physically and psychologically, Benrey steels themself forward. They aren’t letting their brain get another chance to kick itself while it's down. <em>Don't think, just go,</em> replays in their head on loop.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Whenever a medical station pops up on their trek through the labyrinthine corridors, they use it for Gordon until it loses charge, hopes that it'll continue to alleviate... everything. But in these pauses, he sometimes stirs, causing Benrey to hurriedly clip through the walls and watch from where they won't be seen. They can't take another reaction from him like before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    This repeats for the third or fourth time before they hear voices up ahead. Benrey pleads with any higher power there is that it's Tommy they're hearing, but they aren't growing too hopeful.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The pair are now in a room partially open to the outside, grated roof showing the sprawl of a darkening sky gradually growing brighter. A sizable steel plate is pushed up against one wall by two massive pistons, sitting in a pit of sorts in the room's center. A trash compactor. The voices are drawing closer, and the cadence is too different to belong to any member of the Science Team. <em>Of course.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey makes the split decision to hide Gordon in the pit, bracing themself just next to the door frame in wait of the voices that sound to be mere yards away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Two marines step through, speaking about a split squad and a lack of communication before Benrey bends themself in impossible angles and sharp shapes everywhere. Neck too long, parts of it clipped and distorted as it wraps it front of the two men and brings them to a dead stop. Benrey's grin is wide, knowing they'll enjoy killing them just as barbarously as the first two.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Not even a minute later, and that's exactly what they've done, details mostly lost in a sea of vehemence, and they toss pieces and remnants of the marines’ bodies into the narrow sliver of the open compactor. They only have a second to stand back and breathe before Gordon gasps awake. Not missing a beat, Benrey makes themself scarce, clipping back into the cold familiarity of the in-betweens.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh, my-- <em>hhhoh,</em> shit," Gordon moans pointedly, contorting inward and clutching his stomach. He sucks down air through his teeth, earning himself a strong bout of nausea. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What... what happened?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The breathless way those words leave his mouth makes Benrey put a hand to their chest, nails sharpened to points and sinking past their vest and shirt to draw blood at the skin. He holds out his left hand first, turning it from back to front, before his stare stutters and lands with difficulty on his missing right. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The <em>sound</em> Gordon makes when it clicks for him, an exclamation conveying such intense agony, dripping with disgust... it feels like it singes a path through Benrey's ears and chars a hole in their brain. That's not going to be a sound they'll forget easily. If ever.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They can't do this anymore, can't will themself to hear one more cry of pain. It looks like they won't have to. From their position outside the map, Benrey can see forward, and there, a short walk up and out, is Tommy, in a sort of waste management room, hunched over on the floor. <em>Wait- is he okay?</em> They don't have time to wonder. Gordon can get there, they know that. For the time they've cared for him today, Benrey recalls every other moment spent with him so far, how he's made his way through the end of the world with the effortlessness of parting a curtain. This shouldn't be anything for him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As they move further away, Benrey hears their own name spat, punctuated with anger and they can't will themself to try and remember what Gordon said leading up to that. They don't think they would handle it well, anyway.    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey lets their grip on the world slip away, feeling every cell, every atom, loosen and fall apart, only held together by the vaguest sense of self they can compel themself to feel. Then, it's black. A different, lonelier black than what usually waits for them in the in-betweens. They let themself fall, a wordless exchange of permissions, allowing the void to render their body non-existent, and they keep falling forever, and then, it's nothing. For a little while, Benrey can pretend they don't exist.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Content warnings in rough chronological order: semi-detailed depictions of violence, brief non-detailed breakdown; detailed descriptions of injury and amputation, mentions of emetophobia, mentions of syringes and related injury, semi-detailed depictions of gun violence and death, emetophobia, semi-detailed breakdown. </p><p>Sorry if these are too long! I just want people to know what they're getting in to! If you need something added, please let me know!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>    Tommy wanders without pause for what feels like hours. The path ahead doesn't matter, and as much as he feels reluctant admitting it, the way out is starting not to matter, either. Gordon... god, <em>Gordon.</em> His screams, his cries for help, his blood <em>everywhere</em>, and Tommy hadn't done a thing. Coomer had been holding him back, but he could have gotten past him, Tommy knows he could've. He had just been... so unspeakably confused. Shocked. Scared. It froze him to the spot.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    Why would Benrey and Bubby set that up? </em>That's the single question Tommy asks himself endlessly, and no matter how long he thinks it over, how he tries to rationalize and hypothesize, he can never reach a sufficient answer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They were meant to find the way out as a team. Go through hell and come out the other side, and do it <em>together</em>. In a single, horrible instant, that future wasn’t theirs anymore. Benrey vanished after Gordon's body was dragged out of sight, and the remaining three separated down different corridors without a word, none of them looking back. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That's where Tommy is now. After the initial split, he just continues to move himself forward, wanting as much distance between himself and the room, the room where <em>Gordon was killed,</em> as he can get. When Tommy comes to a dead end, and he's forced to stop moving, his thoughts catch up, and he can no longer avoid the horrible intensities and realizations of all that’s just happened. He stumbles and falls to the floor. It doesn't matter that aliens or soldiers may be right around the corner. It doesn't matter that Tommy can't really tell which way he came from or how to get back. It just <em>doesn't matter.</em> Even if he pulls himself up and on, finds a way out, there no longer feels like there's a point to it. The world seems dimmer and bleaker now that Gordon isn't a part of it anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy screams and cries everything out into his lab coat's sleeves. Every obscenity he was tempted to lob at Bubby and Benrey. Every pointed question at Coomer for doing nothing to help. Everything he wishes he could say to Gordon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "I'm sorry I let them hurt you!"</em> Tommy wails. "I could've- should've done... more, and I- I didn't! How could it have- Why did I just... let it happen?" The question trails off, his voice frayed and rough. He shifts from being splayed across the floor to sitting upright, pulling his knees against his chest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Why does this feel so awful? Aside from the obvious, which was letting your friend, someone you were meant to watch out for, be beaten and dismembered right in front of you. There's something else, though. A distinct twinge of hurt Tommy can't place.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He only knew Gordon for just under a hundred hours, and he’d grown to such importance in that relatively small span. It's a little overwhelming for Tommy to admit it to himself, but it's ultimately undeniable. Within four days' time, Gordon became one of his main reasons to keep moving forward. Any time Tommy fell behind, he made the effort to catch up so he could look out for Gordon. Any time he'd tell a joke or jump onto someone else's, it was only in the hopes that he would get to hear Gordon laugh. Any time Tommy was awake well past everyone else, it was in the thought that he could keep Gordon company if he couldn't sleep.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    …holy shit.</em> It's only now that Tommy is fully discerning that this level of consideration for Gordon goes a ways beyond the bounds of friendship. Sure, friends watch out for each other, crack jokes, comfort one another, but it's the fact that Tommy’s been thinking almost <em>only</em> of this for the past half a week that makes him understand his feelings aren't ones of just affinity. He briefly suspected it before, but now, Tommy's sure. It's affection, the hope that these feelings can advance into something more. It's <em>love.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy immediately brings himself back down from the clouds upon realizing that these revelations are pointless. Even if he loves Gordon, he'll never get the chance to act on it. Never work up the nerve to confess. Never take him out on a date if his feelings were returned. Never see his home. Never meet his son.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He's seconds away from sobbing again when Tommy's stopped in place by a forceful <b><em>thunk</em></b> from a drain pipe above and to his right. He can't be bothered to turn and look. Marines, maybe? He wouldn't put it past the military to send men in through the sewage lines, but it doesn't make sense for them to come through here, what with how detached this sector is from the entirety of the facility. Has to be aliens, then. It doesn't matter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A click, like that of a button being compressed, rings out from the same pipe, and soon, a warm, yellow light bleeds and crosses into the pallid greens of the room. <em>That's</em> enough to get his attention. Turning, Tommy watches with tremors racking his body and eyes impossibly wide as the dead returns to life.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon Freeman, beaten and mangled halfway to death, is crawling through the drain on hand and knees, eyes filling with both relief and uncertainty when they meet Tommy's.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "He- hey! Tom- <em>Tommy!</em> Tommy, up here!" he cries, remaining hand waving down frantically.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Huh?" Tommy startles out of his head when realizing Gordon's been calling out to him, too enraptured in seeing the impossible turned possible right in front of him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's me! Tommy! Are you..." <em>It </em><b><em>is </em></b><em>you,</em> Tommy wants to cry. The last person on earth he ever expected to see is here, and alive<em>. Alive, alive, alive.</em> The word has never felt so good to think.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hello, Mr. Freeman,"  Tommy replies slowly, sounding sadder than he means it to, mind occupied with taking in his appearance. Following the dozens upon dozens of punches and kicks he suffered, bruises have moved from the muddled reds of initial impact and are beginning to paint themselves in deep blues and purples alongside countless cuts and welts across his skin. Gordon's glasses are so terribly cracked it's a wonder how he's seeing out of them at all, and his curls, loose from their tie, are slick and weighed down with blood and sweat and grime alike. Then, the most difficult thing to turn to- Gordon's right arm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The point of amputation is a stomach-turning level of jagged. The combat knife must have been serrated. Nausea churns in Tommy's stomach. Visible bone glints wretchedly in the glow of the flashlight. The blood flow isn't as bad as he anticipated, but that doesn't make Tommy feel better in the slightest. The exertion of getting himself here is pulling Gordon's shoulders back and forth as he takes deep, shuddering gulps of air.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Are you- are you here to fuckin' kill me? D-did-- did they tell you to finish me off? Please tell- please tell me." His eyes flick around the room, guarded and terrified. Gordon's fear, absolute over his perception, makes Tommy's heart sink. He replies to Gordon immediately, not letting his anxiety grow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No. They tricked me." <em>They tricked us both. They hurt you. They nearly killed you.</em> Tommy's thoughts are quickly stirring and pooling with rage he doesn't slip into his tone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What?" Gordon begins to slide down from the pipe's mouth, but as he dangles one leg out first, he wobbles and reels. Instead of landing on his feet as intended, he tumbles and lands in a heap, knocking the air out of his lungs as he does. Tommy winces at the sound, drawing closer to help him stand, but remembering his panic, backs away. Gordon's up as quick as he can be, grimacing as he draws his right arm in with his left. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh, my fucking <em>arm,"</em> he groans, agony raking its claws through his voice. Tommy's stomach feels like it inverts itself. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hey, buddy. What you mean they- what'd they do to you?" Gordon gasps through the misery, trembling as he speaks, and stabilizes himself with his remaining hand on his knee.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    To </em><b><em>me</em></b><em>?</em> Tommy wants to cry out. <em>What did they do to </em><b><em>you</em></b><em>? Why did this have to happen? Why to</em> <em>you?</em> <em>How are you still being selfless and incredible when you're missing a fucking </em><b><em>arm</em></b><em>?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy startles out of his thoughts when realizing he's just been asked a question.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Um..." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Well, maybe joking around will ground Gordon a bit. Remind him of what things had been like before everything... happened.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "They gave me a Beyblade."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A flicker of light returns to Gordon's eyes, but he has far too many questions to let the conversation be derailed. He persists.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Why are you- did they leave you behind?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah... I ran away." Tommy's voice gives away his anxiety, now that he's seeing Gordon closer than before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    God, this is bad. This is <em>bad</em>. Gordon looks ready to just drop dead where he stands. For someone meant to be in his late twenties, he looks closer to Tommy's age, or older. Dark, pronounced bags hang low beneath his eyes, light wrinkles at the corners now seeming much darker and deeper than Tommy recalls them being. Dried blood is caked around his nostrils and at the corners of his mouth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    One other thing Tommy notices is an unexpected- but not unwelcome- surprise. Gordon has a dusting of freckles across his cheeks and dotted at random elsewhere along his face. Tommy feels himself growing rosy with this discovery, and he wants to kick himself for being so hopeless.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon closes the space, resting his surviving hand on Tommy's shoulder, and managing an unsure, shaky smile, their eyes meet. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Thank you, man. Honestly..." <em>Oooh no.</em> Tommy is undoubtedly red now. He only hopes that the bright green cast from below the floor is enough to wash out the growing color on his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Moving back, Gordon sways heavily where he stands, seconds from dropping if Tommy hadn't rushed forward to place two steadying hands against his shoulders. He feels unbelievably guilty when the sudden motion makes Gordon jump, but he relaxes immediately after and leans a lot of his weight into Tommy’s hands, exhaling and shaking weakly. In a sign of gratitude, he pats his hand over Tommy's, and grins, warm and broad. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It's like Tommy short-circuits. Any questions he'd been ready to pose about what he can do, what Gordon needs, those are out the window. He hazily recalls the joke he made before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "They took the Beyblade back though, Mr. Freeman." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's left hand returns to his right arm, as if clutching it would calm the angry spikes of pain that come and go in droves.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh. Would you go back if they gave you another Beyblade?" he rasps, humor returning to his voice. Tommy breaks into a wide grin. He can not and <em>will not</em> get over the fact that Gordon's jumping on to his stupid bit and playing along when he has to be experiencing unimaginable amounts of pain. It makes Tommy's heart pick up its pace tenfold, and he briefly worries Gordon can somehow hear it with how the clear and strong the sound travels to his own ears. He must be quiet for longer than he thinks, as Gordon speaks up again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I know, that's hard to think about. That's a good... that's a good deal." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    If he forwent common sense, Tommy swears he could have kissed Gordon then and there. Instead, he exhales his laughter through his nose, wishing that the warmth still present on his cheeks would let him take a breather.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh my God! You don't have a hand!" He meant to continue the jokes, but Tommy didn't fully weigh the words, and it clearly went too far. He hates himself for it the moment that sentence leaves his mouth. Gordon's gaze bores into his missing limb as the smallest, most defeated laugh echoes off the walls, the kind Tommy <em>never</em> wanted to get from him. Gordon nods, more of a tremor than an intended sign of confirmation. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I know. I know. <em>Oh, god--</em>" Gordon throws his head up, nearly sending himself backwards. His eyebrows furrow in concentration and eyes clench shut as he tries desperately not to be sick. Tommy only tightens his hold on him in response. <em>I've got you.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The conversation goes back and forth, talking about how to proceed from here, the idea of a prosthetic, the unsanitary nature of having this exchange in a toxic waste disposal room. That last point drives Tommy into getting Gordon up and moving, and as the pair take their first trial steps, he speaks up again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Do you have any medical experience?" The pain must be worsening. Tommy notices how sharply Gordon's eyebrows are creased and how his shaking is growing more pronounced.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No," he answers sadly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "And do you have any pills? And- you- y'don't even- not even, like, an ibuprofen or an Advil?" A strangled whimper falls from Gordon's mouth involuntarily. Tommy tears up at the sound. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It hurts, man. Hurts a lot," Gordon says quietly, voice making it apparent that he's barely keeping himself from sobbing. Tommy wants to pull him into a hug, refuse to let go until they've both cried out their frustrations and pain, but hearing blood dripping onto the cement reminds him that they need to be operating on a quicker timetable.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I only have soda..." Tommy speaks absently. "Wuh- we should get going. Because this says that this is hazardous waste..." No, it's definitely time to move. He doesn't want Gordon to breathe in any of this a second longer when he has a <em>pretty full</em> <em>plate</em> of shit to deal with already.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Okay..." Gordon comes to a stop. "Can I trust you, Tommy? Are y- are we good together?" Tommy knows it's just the wording, but asking him if they're good together... <em>I really, really hope so</em>, is Tommy's first thought. <em>Nope! Not the time or the place! No thanks!</em> is the second. Infatuation aside, he can never affirm quick enough how Gordon can always put his trust in him. Gordon says jump, Tommy will ask how high. He’s follow this man around the globe just because it was him who asked, but Tommy decides to leave that part out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah," he replies instead, simple and true, readying a pistol in his free hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The glint of the gun catches in his lenses as Gordon swallows hard, something undetermined flickering over his expression.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Okay!" he says, a little too quickly, voice cracking as he tries to walk ahead on his own. First step without support, and he's flat on his face. Hands around Gordon's shoulders in an instant, Tommy kneels to help him sit up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "So... <em>ngh,"</em> He wavers even sitting completely still. "What did they tell you? Like... what are they do- what's their goal? Why did they <em>do</em> that?" Tommy's a little relieved learning he and Gordon are on the same page. Completely confused, terrified, unsure of much of anything anymore. That relief is quickly overtaken by guilt when Tommy realizes he can't answer his questions, can't ease his fear.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I don't think I... What- I didn't give them any reason to..." Gordon's voice trails off, tone lonely and despondent.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I don't know," Tommy tells him honestly. His brain is running on partial auto-pilot, and makes the command decision that it wants, maybe needs, to hear Gordon laugh. "They just gave me the Beyblade and told me t- to pay- to not pay attention."</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    There's</em> that spark, that expression that borders on reverence Tommy's very fond of getting from Gordon whenever he tells a joke that lands.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Assholes!" Gordon declares, shoulders shuddering harder with the laughter that runs beneath the surface. "Fuckin' assholes!" He's again leaning into Tommy, head nearly on his shoulder as he snorts.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sensibly, Tommy knows he has to get the both of them up and out, but man, does he wish Gordon would just lean down the rest of the way and lay his head down, even for a second. Now that he's seemingly returned from the grave, Tommy's more than eager for every instance of contact he can get after believing he'd never get the chance again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Standing them both up in unison, Tommy has his right arm wrapped around Gordon's back, hand resting on his waist. Even through the suit's layers, Tommy can feel how taut his muscles are stretched and strained as tremors traverse his body. He's still swaying, but Tommy has him. Gordon's been watching out for them, caring for them, leading them. Tommy figures it's more than time to be that for him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Making sure he's comfortable on his feet, Tommy watches Gordon carefully as he speaks up again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Is it- is it two against three? Are we fucked now?" he pants weightily. Tommy tenses.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I don't know, Mr. Freeman. I think we can still make it out of here." And he means that. He'll sooner take on every alien or marine single-handedly if it means getting Gordon out alive. Tommy realizes he's spent too much time in his head as it was, registering only vaguely Gordon talking about the prospect of going up against each of them separately and what that could entail. Tommy wills himself not to think about that. Cross that bridge when you get there and all that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy, you lead the way," Gordon speaks, and Tommy listens.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They take about three steps when Gordon stumbles and falls against him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Go slow, man. I can't walk too fast."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>That </em><b><em>was </em></b><em>slow</em>, Tommy thinks. <em>Incredibly</em> <em>so.</em> Anxiety burrows hard into his lower stomach. He briefly wonders if he should offer to carry Gordon, or if that would cross a line of intimacy and trust they haven't reached yet. He just stays silent and moves slower as asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Remembering very little from the walk here, Tommy's still able to recall that going through the doorway would just lead them back through the main building. <em>Back to...</em> No, no use thinking about that now. It wasn't going to get them anywhere. Tommy counts himself unbelievably lucky he'll never have to face that room again. Never be met with the sight of Gordon's severed, still-twitching hand in a sea of <em>far too much</em> <em>blood</em>. <em>Blood on the walls. Blood on his shoes.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    If they can't use the only clear way in or out, where are they meant to go? Skirting the outside of the waste tank, Tommy notices a ladder on its side. <em>Shit.</em> He wants to lead Gordon <em>away</em> from the extremely toxic materials, not directly <em>over</em> them. It doesn't look like they have a ton of options, though. Military presence will be too heavy to risk going back through the main building, anyway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Briefly relaying this plan to Gordon makes his eyes go wide, but he ultimately agrees that that’s really their only choice. Tommy smiles, gently separates himself from the other man, and hopes his balance will hold up long enough to see him across.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Look! The rock that you're standing on looks like Tibet!" Closer scrutiny reveals that the rock, in fact, looks almost nothing like Tibet, but his commentary is rewarded with one of</p>
</div><div>
  <p>the most genuine, breathy giggles he's heard from Gordon yet. God, for someone who's only just come to understand the feelings he has are romantic ones, it's really hitting Tommy just how bad he's got it for Gordon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    This is probably fine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They continue back and forth as they walk. Tommy even manages to make Gordon laugh a few more times, too. So far, so good. Sure, there's been two separate pits of toxic waste Gordon's fallen into, but the suit’s seemingly spared him from the worst of any ill effects, even lacking power. Extremely fortunately, even through the cloudiness of blood loss, he had the sense to keep his arm above the liquid in the vats. They need to stop for frequent breaks, but Tommy is growing more and more confident that they can do this.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That confidence withers when the pair emerge from a shallow pool into a room filled wall to wall with Dr. Coomer. </p>
</div><div>
  <p><b><em>    "Hello, Gordon!"</em></b> Those two words echoing from several mouths at once is near deafening. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy is immediately swarmed and separated from Gordon faster than he can draw his gun. They aren't after him, though. They make no move to attack, no move to do anything more than keep him back. It dawns on Tommy that this whole set-up, all of this, this is to get to <em>Gordon,</em> and the why of it terrifies him. Scanning the room wildly for a familiar shade of orange, he finds the smallest glint of it, off in the corner where at least seven or eight clones are bunched tightly together.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "There's an entrance in your suit, Dr. Freeman. <em>And I want in."</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Some are suspended above them in flight, and as Tommy begins shooting them down by and large, he observes in horror that some carry syringes. He's not keen on either him or Gordon figuring out what sort of compound lies behind the needle. He keeps doing what he can, but when one goes down, it feels like two more rush in to take its place. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy’s blood runs cold when Gordon screams. He turns to find a fear confirmed- a syringe has been plunged deep in Gordon's left thigh, enough force to travel <em>through</em> the plating. What seems to be the original doctor has been talking to him, obliquely cornering him while he has his attention, and a clone Tommy thought he'd finished off raised himself from the ground to deliver the jab. Remorse is greatly outweighed by panicked, white-hot anger, and for the first time since he's started killing them, Tommy feels no regret planting a bullet in the clone's skull.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon laughs in shrill disbelief, ducking under a punch swung his way and escaping up the nearby flight of stairs. Other than limping and putting the majority of his weight on his right side, it doesn’t seem like anything’s seriously wrong. <em>It's probably a mild paralytic</em>, Tommy realizes. Relieved, he sighs, and continues to gun the clones down. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It can't have been longer than ten minutes, but that's still too large a time without a single glimpse of Gordon for Tommy to relax. He's finally able to breathe easier when he hears a familiar voice, exhausted and terrified, call out from where they first came up from.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy, bring me up. I can't get out with one arm," he wheezes, resting his hand on the floor above him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy feels like he's miles away, swearing he can feel the adrenaline seep from his heart and lungs. He's absolutely coated in blood, his already disgusting lab coat feeling doubly so, and his breathing is furious.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I killed them all," he says, on the edge of sounding proud, but far too tired to reach it. He gazes down at Gordon, letting his eyes soften and a tired, fond smile break across his lips. Gordon looks back, eyes widening in the smallest amount before he turns away. Tommy hopes it isn't just wishful thinking when he thinks he sees a brush of color cross his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "All of them? What about the real one?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy has no answer. He's fairly certain he wouldn't be able to tell the corpses apart, even if he wasn't just coming down from a heavy adrenaline rush. He instead holds out his hand to Gordon, who takes it eagerly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I need a rest," Gordon laments, crumpling onto the floor. "Dude! This is the worst day of my life!" The stomach-churning awareness that he's fallen directly on top of a pile of blood and bits of gore is the breaking point for the sickness he's been holding back so diligently, and Gordon pulls himself up and away to retch in the corner.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's stomach is in knots on his behalf, but he just continues to busy himself with burying more bullets in the skulls of Coomer's clones. He isn't furious or terrified. For sure. He's just... playing it safe. Emotion definitely isn't a factor here. This entire time, the rush of blood in his ears drowns out the majority of all sound, including the mumbled, slurred words from across the room. One thing soon comes through heartbreakingly clear, and that's Gordon’s voice now laden with barely-contained sobs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    "Tommy! Talk to me!"</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Without even considering how warm a gesture it is, how vastly intimate despite how simple, Tommy crosses the room, lowers in front of him, and carefully brushes away the tears that have fallen. Gordon leans against his hand, watery eyes darting up and searching his, and Tommy can't find himself feeling embarrassed or tense holding his gaze. This just feels right and <em>good.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They pull away too soon for either of their liking, but Tommy doesn't like having his back turned to the room behind him, and Gordon's too drained to keep himself propped up. His head falls back onto the floor as he attempts to get his breathing back under control.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I think I'm losing a lot of blood," Gordon suddenly rasps. He says something after, but Tommy doesn't hear it as he zeroes in on the quickly growing <em>pond</em> of blood beneath Gordon. He hasn't been lying there for more than five minutes, yet the size of the puddle is extensive. <em>How long have we been on the move for? Has his arm been dripping this entire time, and how heavily?</em> So many questions Tommy has no answers for.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You need to tell me the truth: <em>did one escape?"</em> Tommy tries to recall, thinks back intensely on all they've just been through. He doesn't think so, but there's just no way to be sure. Tommy tells him about as much, but Gordon's attention is quickly on something else, and with no small amount of difficulty, he's on his feet and partially up the staircase.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh my god, a first aid kit. <em>Please</em> don't tell me he used it." He feebly raises his hand to the machine. "They couldn't have..." He places his hand inside, and squeezes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "It's empty!"</em> Gordon cries, legs buckling while his arm wraps around himself in a mock hug. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "<em>Please!</em> Please..." He sobs, sinking to the ground under his own weight, voice plunging into complete defeat and hopelessness. Tommy comes up behind him to rest a hand on his shoulder. As Gordon continues to despair, Tommy realizes he likely can't feel the touch at all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon," Tommy murmurs, hoping the rare usage of his first name is meaningful. "It'll-- it'll all be okay. We'll find another."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sobs stifle any words he attempts to speak, so Gordon just stands and virtually throws himself into Tommy's arms, choking and sputtering on his tears, face buried into Tommy’s shoulder as he frees every emotion that's been aching and gnawing at him for far too long, fist wrung tightly into his lab coat and his trembling weight bringing them both to their knees.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy says nothing, letting him continue as long as he needs. All the time in the world is his, as far as Tommy's concerned. He wants to rub comforting circles into his back, run his hand soothingly down his arm and settle it in his hand when they part, but knows Gordon wouldn't feel any of it. Remembering their short-lived moment just a little while ago, he hopes his next idea won't be going too far, won't cross a limit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy raises a hand up to Gordon's mess of brown hair and smooths it down slowly while he pulls him closer, his own tears silently joining his. Gordon tenses at this for only a second before he lets himself soften and sigh in Tommy's arms, another round of sobs almost immediately following. Tommy carries on the comforting motions of his hand, carefully working out tangles and knots. Once he's finished, his fingernails scratch lightly against Gordon's scalp, not fully conscious of the movement until he's doing it. Tommy's ready to stammer out an apology, but a quiet hum falls from Gordon's lips like a sigh while he grips onto him tighter, and Tommy's remorseful ramblings die along with any doubts about their closeness. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Maybe Gordon doesn't like him back, and maybe he never will, but Tommy will forever take immense satisfaction in knowing that they hold something special between them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Whatever that something may be.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Only when the sobs have diminished to sniffles and shuddering breaths does Tommy dare move for them to stand. It was well-needed for them both, but Tommy’s sure crying has worn Gordon down even further, and he doesn't like that his vision’s blurry when he has to be on full alert for the both of them. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy receives confirmation of Gordon's immense exhaustion when two steps up the stairs have him reeling and gripping the railing like a lifeline. Without further pause, he nudges Gordon to the side to take his good arm and cast it over his shoulders. Gordon smiles weakly in thanks as they press on.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    One hand firmly around his gun, Tommy guides Gordon to step over another corpse in the short hallway. A small shuffle of cloth and two short footsteps are the only warning they're given.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Surprise attack, Gordon!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    One contained breakdown from Gordon and a disappearing-then-reappearing Coomer later, the three of them are now sitting together and talking rather casually, considering all that just happened. After Gordon asks, Coomer answers, and Tommy listens, it's time for them to get moving again. Coomer decides to take point and clear out the way ahead, reassuring them both he'll be fine. Tommy doesn't doubt it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There's a hundred different reasons to try and pinpoint any one of them, but when Gordon stands, he immediately collapses. </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    No, no, no</em> resounds in Tommy’s head intensely as he turns Gordon over and cradles his upper body in his arms. Fingers deftly search for a pulse, he finds it, although it feels more like fluttering and beats far too fast. He must be completely drained, body giving out, unable to keep moving for a second longer. Gordon trembles weakly in Tommy's arms as his shallow breathing grows lighter and softer in the smallest degree. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy can't stop himself from taking in his face more thoroughly than he's allowed himself before. Gordon's lashes cast thin, long shadows over his cheeks, lips parted ever so slightly, and Tommy finds himself gazing on in wonder, both marveling at his appearance and at how one man possesses the strength and resolve he does. How he's led the four of them through the end of the world, smiling as he goes, listening to their stories, laughing at their jokes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As if Tommy's admiration holds some unsung power, Gordon shifts in his arms, eyes prying themselves open with difficulty. Tommy doesn't turn away, doesn't let the self-conscious side of himself prevail. He keeps his gaze where it lay, and Gordon takes note, expression initially startled, then growing incredibly soft and... <em>fond</em>. That's the only word that fits the way his eyes meet Tommy's, holding a weary smile, the rest of his strength all used to fixate on Tommy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It's like Gordon is seeing him for the first time. <em>Really</em> seeing him. Tommy has a gentle, relieved grin on his face, dimples prevalent. Even when they first met, Gordon recalls thinking about how incredibly charming they were. His eyes, maybe only due to the lighting of the room, seem to hold a dim glow to them, the deep, rich brown hue holding the same sense of warmth that Gordon noticed from the start and has comforted him ever since. <em>Warmth...</em> Tommy has a strong blush tinting his cheeks. <em>Is he getting closer?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Mr. Fr-- Gordon? Can I kiss you?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon is so <em>immediately</em> overwhelmed, but in the best possible way. His head swims with a thousand different feelings, colliding, merging, mingling in a soundless explosion, but some are able to reform and come together enough to be able to give a short nod in answer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They both move to close the space, and it feels like everything is made right when they connect. Every feeling, every consolation, every hand extended in help, all of it meant something more than just what it was in the moment, though Gordon has the sneaking suspicion they both knew this for a while now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    At that thought, he sits up, angling himself further into Tommy's hold to deepen the kiss. Tommy finds himself taken aback for only a moment, but quickly regains composure and holds onto him tighter, free hand weaving through his hair to cup the back of his head, drawing him in ever closer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There'll be another fight. Another close call. Another immense, looming threat of danger. There always is. But in this room, in this time, the ticking of the great clock seems merciful enough to slow and stretch into endlessness.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    No matter what stands between the two of them and getting out, Tommy is more than ready to face it. More than he ever thought he would be. Fear is overridden with reignited hope that burns brighter than even the largest, sprawling constellations that occupy the night skies.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    When they part, eyes returning to each other's seeking validity in what they've shared, Tommy holds no uncertainty in believing that Gordon feels the same.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Holy shit, I struggled with this one. That may become evident the further you read. It'll also become painfully clear that I have no idea how to write attraction or kisses. And that's on being lonely, folks!<br/>Again, please remember that this is the first fic I've ever posted, and I'm extremely anxious to share my writing still. But! This story seemed to get a decent response in Chapter 1, so I figured I'd try and keep going! Still unclear on how many chapters this thing'll have... my best guess says around... 5 or 6? Maybe 7? I'm sorry that I can't give more than a loose estimate.</p><p>   If you're here, and you're reading this, thank you! I think it's really cool that I've gotten a fair amount of attention on this dumb lil story already, and it is much appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings for this chapter in rough chronological order: light mentions of blood, detailed panic attack, unreality, spiraling/self-hating thoughts, descriptions of pain (from semi to highly detailed), brief mention of emetophobia, brief mention of death.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>    Gordon is weathered, weak, and growing increasingly delirious. Any time they've come across a medical station that's been drained, he no longer reacts with despair like he did before. Just nonsensical shouts and commentary. It makes Tommy feel ill. Coomer often spares looks his way, ones brimming with concern.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The third medical station they come across isn't of any help, either.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It had, like... two. Fuckin' seconds of juice left."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Two blood?" Tommy says, hoping that kidding around will lighten the tension in the air.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Two blood. Two CCs," Gordon laughs breathlessly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Maybe if we bump the machine, there will be more hidden in there. HAH!" Coomer punches the machine, front panel caving in with a sharp shriek of resistance. Gordon jumps, then doubles over with a wheeze of laughter. Instead of standing back up, he continues slumping forward, lurching sideways trying to right himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy quickly closes the distance, returning Gordon's left arm to a supportive position over his shoulders. Coomer leads the way, focused intently with fists raised. Gordon casts his half-conscious attention between them both with a small smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You guys... honestly, guys? Really, I think I- I love you two," he mumbles, voice uneven and slowing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy nearly trips over himself. Gordon addressed Coomer, too, and they kissed not even half an hour ago, but hearing him say so makes Tommy's chest feel wonderfully full, as if his heart beats with renewed strength. Tommy's sure he has the dumbest grin plastered across his face right now, but he finds he's far from caring.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He gently butts his head against Gordon's, who turns to him languidly. He still manages a smile, lips trembling with the effort, and at that, Tommy leans in and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. Gordon sighs and leans further against his side. They continue on, the silence comfortable and content.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It wasn't meant to last.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   "<em>Hey, motherfucker.</em>"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon, I just want you to know-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Do I look any <em>different</em> to you?" Gordon holds his arm to the tube, a thin trail of blood rolling down the glass as if to punctuate his question.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yes, I... never told them to do that," Bubby wavers, pauses betraying his nervousness. "They... they fooled me! They told me you were the reason we hadn't been out of here, so... s- so they said to trick you into going into that room! But when you went in, they knocked me over the head and shoved me back in my tube!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's no longer toeing the border of smug glee, instead stepping fully into it now that Bubby's pinned and both Coomer and Tommy are on his side. He cracks up alongside the tube's metal housing. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh, you're fucked. Bubby- I'm kind of <em>out</em> of forgiveness, after all I've been through today. So, you need to prove to me that you're telling the truth, and you need to <em>sell me</em> on that shit."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Seeing Gordon so assertive and uncompromising makes Tommy's skin prickle. It's a far cry from the panicked alien crowbar take-downs from just a few days ago. This is raw and unfiltered. It feels strangely personal seeing him like this, but Tommy can't find himself looking away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah- how did you get in there?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "They put me in here!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon cuts in with unbridled, biting laughter. "Get fucked. Get <em>fucked</em>."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah, you know?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He takes a step forward. Bubby inches backwards. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You know? I distinctly remember- when those lights went out, I remember you sayin' something along the lines of, like, 'Well, you fucked up, and now you're paying the price'," Gordon cocks his head. "I think that's kinda what's goin' on with you, man."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's eyes are wide, watching Gordon's movements alight with fury. <em>Holy </em><b><em>shit</em></b>. The situation’s too serious for Tommy to be considering the moral quandaries of finding this attractive. The continued back and forth is dragging the conversation off course, and Gordon interjects with his single hand raised, calling for silence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "An apology's one thing- what I want from you is information. Where's Benrey?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Benrey</em>. A name Tommy's deliberately avoided thinking of. He knows Benrey better than anyone else here, and yet, with everything that's happened in the last half a day, he feels like he might not really know anything at all. Tommy doesn't want to mentally unpack their history, unwilling to remember the affection and friendship they've shared over the years through where he's standing in a turbulent sea of anger and confusion. All Tommy lets himself focus on is the fact that Benrey's been here a long time. Even though they aren't behind an observation wall anymore, Black Mesa has never been one to let their projects go far, and Benrey is no different. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The part that concerns Tommy, though, is whether Benrey holds grudges against the facility and is now projecting those onto Gordon. Gordon, who worked with them and, although mostly not by choice, bears one of the company’s emblems as a shield across his chest. Tommy feels sure in thinking Gordon hates Black Mesa in equal measure, but does Benrey know that?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His thoughts are discontinued by the sound of shattering glass and a blaring alarm. Tommy can't be entirely surprised by the decision reached- they're going to need all the help they can get- but he'll be damned if Bubby’s let back in without it being completely clear what sort of position he's in. From behind Gordon and Coomer, Tommy takes aim directly for Bubby's head so fast it could've been missed had he blinked, and then just as quickly lowers the gun, focusing all his intent into a single, piercing stare. <em>Make one wrong move that gets Gordon hurt again, it'll be the last move you make.</em> The other man only nods, almost imperceptibly. Tommy doesn't take his eyes off him once until they all file out of the room.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey loosened their grip from reality too much. They've lost form entirely, which has only happened once before. <em>Must've really wanted to not be here...</em> they push the thought away. When they begin reconstructing their body, it's incredibly slow-going and... painful. That's new. They've died any number of ways they could think of. Crushed, drowned, incinerated. No matter how grisly the death, reformation has never <em>hurt</em> before. Why is this time different?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The void around them is slowly returned, piece by piece, to the layout of Black Mesa. Benrey has been placed far below it, staring up at the confusing webs of rooms and halls. They concentrate on Gordon, recalling his face, his voice, his laugh, and like a blip on a radar, they now know right where to find him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Drifting closer, Benrey freezes. A skeleton, perched on a light fixture above the Science Team, legs slowly kicking back and forth. <em>Fuck</em>. Benrey was really hoping the end was further off, but this only confirms that it's close, closer, <em>getting closer.</em> Gordon notices the skeleton right after them. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He groans and stiffens, stumbling backwards until his back’s against the wall, breathing picking up several paces faster in a second as he shakes and sinks to the floor. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No, no, no, no, <em>no, no, no</em>..." Gordon pants. His pulse hammers feverishly in his ears. A steady hand graces his cheek, carefully angling his head up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon?" Tommy speaks, but it's so muffled and far away. <em>It's happening. I'm dying</em>, Gordon thinks. His breathing grows in pace until he's fully hyperventilating. His hand flies to the suit's chest plate, pulling and scratching at it desperately. It <em>has</em> to come off, he <em>can't</em> <em>breathe</em>, it's too tight, getting tighter, <em>suffocating</em> <em>him,</em> he's going to die, die hundreds of feet below the earth, no one will miss him...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A second skeleton is not what he needs right now. Benrey can only watch from beneath the floor and feel as if the void is closing and pressing down around them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I need to— tell me what you need right now," Tommy intones, voice soft and even.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "L<em>-leave,"</em> Gordon wheezes. "Th- the... the room. Gotta… <em>need</em> <em>t-</em> leave..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    From where Coomer's been watching over Tommy's shoulder, he moves forward and brings Gordon up effortlessly. Tommy steps to his side, carefully moving the hair that clings to Gordon's forehead aside while taking care in avoiding the scrapes and bumps along his face. Bubby stands near the doorway, arms folded and decidedly <em>not</em> looking their way, but his expression is clearly worried. No, it's more... penitent. Tommy would have been stopped in place by the sight if it were any other time but now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The group moves past the doorway and down the hall, stopping at the second bend it makes. Far enough for the room to be out of sight, but not too close to the entry of the next. Benrey follows from below, thankful their stomach hasn't reformed. It’d be in knots.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dr. Coomer sets Gordon down in a corner, hoping the walls against his back will be another reassurance of safety. The other two sit slowly at Tommy's instruction while he crouches in front of Gordon. Even taking care in moving slowly, Gordon still jumps hard, then instantly stammers out apologies.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You don't need to be sorry. You're- you d- um... can you copy the way I'm breathing, Gordon?" Tommy inhales through his nose, holds it for a few seconds, then exhales through his mouth. Although trying, Gordon can't get himself to reply with words, and instead nods shakily in answer. He replicates the breath, littered with hitches and stifled sobs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You're doing good. Can you do it again?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They repeat this several times, Gordon slowly returning to reality with every repeated breath, and in turn, the other three all feel like they can breathe easier themselves. Tommy stays silent until it seems the worst is behind them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Are you okay with being touched, Gordon?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He nods slowly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy moves to Gordon's left and carefully pulls him into a hug. Tommy feels he knows Gordon well enough to understand where his comforts are sought most, and touch is important to him. An almost automatic response, Gordon's surviving hand moves up his back, and Tommy can feel how intensely he's trembling. He closes the distance even more, resting his chin on Gordon's shoulder, and he immediately tenses with a sharp breath in. Before Tommy can pull back and apologize, Gordon's arms tighten in as he buries his face against Tommy's chest, trying to cry quietly as residual panic worms its way through his system. Tommy's arms loop more insistently around his shoulders as both Coomer and Bubby take their hands in each others', a wordless agreement to let them have this. They feel it's the least they can do.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It's a short but well-needed cry. When it ends, the only thing that was keeping him upright goes with it, and Gordon falls limp in Tommy's arms. His breathing is finally evening out- back to his current normal of shallow gasps, at least. Pulling Gordon off his shoulders to look over him closer, he's definitely sweating harder, and even mostly unconscious, his expression is anguished. Tommy straightens his glasses and pulls Gordon into his arms, bringing him up with him as he stands. Tommy's not about to try and rouse him from needed rest, knowing he can carry him while Coomer and Bubby take point.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Benrey's seen enough. They feel endlessly guilty- no, guilty is too light a word. Not only that, there's a thousand other feelings, none of them good. Loneliness, remorse, self-hatred... but worst of all, Benrey just <em>misses</em> Gordon. They <em>miss</em> Tommy, and not just in the time apart: they miss the Science Team before the trap was sprung, before they <em>royally</em> fucked up. The warmth and security they felt in the group... that's something Benrey isn't sure they can ever recapture, even if they're miraculously let back in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Involuntarily, but not to any disappointment, their skeleton begins to break apart, fingers turning powdery and falling away like chalk dust. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It's now far too quiet in the void where it used to be welcome silence before. Too quiet. Too dark. Too lonely. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey fills the space with a sharp peal of laughter. Far too loud. Far too forced. Far too easily broken off into sobs as they fall further and further. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The last thing they remember, Benrey fell far enough to see the underside of Black Mesa as a single dot of color against the deep, endless nothing that hangs around it, like the maw of a massive monster ready to snap shut. Benrey distantly wonders if this is them. If this is their mouth. If they're meant to clamp their teeth down onto anything unlucky enough to be ensnared within. To ruin. To devastate. To kill. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Considering all they've done, Benrey believes that it is.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's original plan of letting Gordon sleep as long as he can is interrupted five minutes in when the room ahead has soldiers lying in wait, the surge of gunfire from both sides rousing him with a start. As soon as Gordon catches on to what's happening, even barely lucid, he's ecstatic. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Make 'em <em>pay!</em> Make 'em pay for what they did!" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's torn between matching his enthusiasm and feeling like a heavy weight burdens the empty spaces between his ribs. <em>For what they did</em>. <em>What they did that you couldn't stop- didn't stop. Gordon will forever live with what happened, and you didn't do a thing. He'll have to relearn how to write. How to tie up his hair. Even eating will be harder. Everything will be different, and painful, and--</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "T- Tommy? You... you okay?" Gordon calls to him. Tommy's downward spiral has brought them to a stop, the other two already up ahead and resuming gunfire. Looking down to Gordon, his concern is so genuine and heartfelt that it makes something catch in Tommy's throat. Gordon's exhaustion won't let him keep up this line of questioning, though, and they both know it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wh- yeah! Yeah."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon clearly didn't buy that for a second, but in his current state, he can’t really argue. That doesn't stop him from trying as he mumbles incoherent disagreements, eyelids growing heavier and heavier no matter how hard he fights it. Tommy swallows, and walks quickly to catch up as Gordon's vision returns to black.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p>   </p>
</div><div>
  <p>   "Gordon," Tommy shakes his shoulder. He repeats this several times, gradually increasing in strength until, strenuously, Gordon stirs, and takes in the room around him through bleary eyes. He's propped up against a wall beneath a medical station, what he figures Tommy's woken him for, and is sitting on the floor of what looks like an observation area, walled off with a single door and window overlooking the remaining majority of the room. Monitors and varied instruments stand tall to his left, and an open medical kit sits directly in front of him, Tommy sifting through its contents. Coomer and Bubby are in front of them of a panel, debating between themselves about something he can't hear.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The HEV suit feels like it's tripled in weight. It sits heavily on his limbs and burdens his chest and lungs. Pain flickers intensely everywhere across his body, lashing itself in unforgiving waves against his missing arm. His head feels like it's filled with wool, world coming through his senses murky and obscure.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>It's getting worse,</em> Gordon determines. He either wants to laugh or cry. Maybe both. Not necessarily in that order. <em>Like you haven't done enough of that already,</em> he chastises himself, face burning when recalling that he's cried to Tommy, <em>onto</em> Tommy, twice in under twenty four hours. Gordon turns to his stump arm. It's bandaged now, and must have been for a while, as the gauze is mostly soaked through and dripping a deep, saturated crimson to the tile below.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Take... these," Tommy shakes out three pills from a bottle and extends them to him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon blinks slowly, looks into his eyes, then to his outstretched hand, and back to his eyes. Tommy shuts them tight as he shakes his head and takes a shuddering breath in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "T-take these," he repeats. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The words finally click, and Gordon holds out his hand, fingers twitching. Tommy sets them in his palm, sliding over a bottle of water as his focus returns to the supplies withdrawn. Coomer pauses from his conversation to give Gordon the type of smile he loves: the warm, grandfatherly kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Everything considered, aside from feeling like a burden weighing them all down, Gordon can't pretend like he doesn't cherish every bit of the care and concern they extend him. This feels good and familiar, being taken care of this way, like times from childhood when he was sick and his mom spent the day at his side.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Something else prods at the back of his mind, though. Something recent. Something begging to be remembered. The dim illumination from the medical station above him further grasps at a memory that isn't entirely there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy and Coomer have tended to him a few times before, even Bubby had once, too, but it was minor things, and were never as extensive as now. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon vaguely remembers hands, cool to the touch, cupping his face, pulling his body close to theirs. Remembers a faint glow being the sole light source in a dark room. Remembers his chest feeling warm and light. That last part doesn't make sense: feeling good during something that, memory serves, was a grave situation. Trying to have these thoughts come together cohesively is akin to trying to navigate a city that was only visited once many years ago. It's achingly familiar, but only very distantly, and the desperation of having something feel so close but still remain out of reach is profoundly frustrating.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A voice from someone in the room sounds like they're speaking underwater, and they honestly could be, for all Gordon knows. His vision's growing dark at the edges, and his brain works very, very slowly in telling him that he should probably be panicking, if not at least letting them all know what's happening. His lips only stay lightly parted, uncooperative and unmoving. Is someone even talking? Did he imagine it? Gordon feels like he's falling even sitting completely still.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The unforgiving burn of alcohol reigniting severed nerves also contributes to his recollections. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Oh. He realizes now: the voice had been speaking warnings and apologies. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon bites hard into his glove as Tommy pours while turned away, hand not holding the disinfectant clasped over his mouth. Coomer is now at Gordon's left, hand on his shoulder while he speaks soft comforts. Gordon wishes he could appreciate them, anguish continuing to claw and spade over exposed muscle and tissue. Turns out carbon fiber is useless at muffling screams. The abysmal pain isn't any easier the second time around.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    When it's done, Gordon is frantically trying to choke down sobs and air. He writhes, biting his tongue and throwing his head back, begging his tears to recede. He is <em>not </em>going to cry to them again. He isn't going to keep being weak so Tommy can stop putting his hurt to the side like it doesn't matter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon... i-it's- it's done," Tommy tells him softly, thumb lightly brushing a tear beneath Gordon's eye as he continues murmuring comforts and praise. Bubby rests his hands on Coomer's shoulders while he wraps Gordon's arm with clean gauze. Even with the acute fear he now regards them with, Gordon finds himself wishing Benrey were here to sing. </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    Benrey</em>...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Is Benrey a part of the memory somehow? Thinking their name is like a red thread pinned beneath a thumbtack. The more he thinks of them, the more certain he feels. Benrey is undoubtedly a part of what he forgot. But what <em>was</em> it? There was a medical station, terrible stinging and rekindling pain of a wound, and then... there was something more. Something tender and good. And <em>Benrey</em> had been a part of that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   It really isn't adding up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wanna see a man barf?" Gordon leans into the doorway, sweat falling in bullets as he sways. Tommy's right behind him with a hand on his back in case he makes good on his query. Gordon heaves once and rights himself, stumbling backwards into Tommy as he does.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No, no- I'm good! I'm good..." </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    You are incredibly </em><b><em>not </em></b><em>good</em>, Tommy thinks. Head trauma is evident as Gordon's confusion has reached a peak. He's mixing up Coomer and Bubby's names, and even infamously bad with names, he's never made the mistake multiple times in a row. He’s speaking in circles, too, repeating himself multiple times and cutting himself off in the process, and he can’t hold up so much as a water bottle without his arm trembling in the effort. Most worryingly, Gordon spoke of his hand feeling prickly and his left side feeling numb, touching a particularly massive bruise on his forehead as he said so. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There has to be something more, <em>something</em> they aren't doing for him. Tommy has never felt more inept than he does now. They haven't come across another medical station yet, and the supplies from the earlier kit were depleted in a single sitting. Even an HEV charger would be a step in the right direction, but they haven't found one of those, either. Tommy wishes, unavailing, for one of them to have more medical knowledge than his basic first aid training. Tourniquets, proper bandaging, <em>something</em>. None of them do.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He has never made learning first aid a priority, knowing that if it was serious enough, he could just pull on the ribbons of time and rewind a person’s clock. For the first time, Tommy <em>can’t. </em>He can almost feel it: a distinct <em>something </em>creating a barricade preventing his abilities from reaching Gordon. But he doesn’t know what. It’s frustrating. It’s agonizing. It’s heartbreaking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The Science Team flits from room to room as no way forward becomes apparent. Gordon knows he's deteriorating, either with existing problems worsening or new ones making themselves known. How much farther can he push himself? He keeps waiting for the inevitable moment where his legs won't take another step, where he'll collapse and his body won't respond, where he'll bleed out across the tile, leaving Tommy alone, and--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "So, hey," Gordon rasps, hoarse from delirious rambling. "I lack the mental fortitude to refute anything you say to me. Who wants to be the de facto leader?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   "Uh, I call dibs!" Bubby moves to head the team and rushes from the room.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hey, hey, wait! Wait! No, it's Tommy. It's only Tommy. I only trust Tommy."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's shoulders jump and his hands tighten where they sit on Gordon's shoulders, the only time he's ever been grateful for the suit separating his touch. Color flies across his face and his heart catches in his throat. <em>You have kissed this man and he's said he loved you! Why are you so irreparably hopeless?</em> Tommy chides himself. <em>Because it's </em><b><em>Gordon</em></b><em>,</em> his thoughts sing back. <em>Because it's </em><b><em>Gordon</em></b><em>, and Gordon</em> <em>trusts you, </em><b><em>loves </em></b><em>you.</em> That's something Tommy never imagined he could have the privilege of thinking and know it to be true.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Now just the two of them, Gordon turns, eyes widening when he notices Tommy's face has grown red. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "That wasn't too much, or- too forward of me, right?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy laughs softly, tucking a curl behind his ear. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No... I don't think it was."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They gaze at each other, holding each other's eyes in their own as the silence urges them on in warm, unspoken persistence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's hand rises to rest on Tommy's cheek. Tommy sighs, placing his hand over Gordon's, and presses further into his touch. It’s Gordon's turn to grow red.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Tommy,"</em> Gordon breathes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy has never loved more how his name sounds on someone's lips. They're going home, he has no room to doubt it, and Tommy will hear his name a thousand times more.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy," Gordon repeats. He draws closer, asking a question and not needing a word.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon," Tommy sighs, other hand trailing up Gordon's chest and turning to rest at the nape of his neck. How does Gordon make it so that the simple act of breathing in and out feels like a marvel? How does being loved and being in love turn all the little things Tommy’s taken for granted in being alive become so wonderful and significant? Never before has he been more grateful for reflected light translated into electricity that takes shape through his eyes into the image of Gordon Freeman.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Can I kiss you?" Gordon's tone is so soft, voice almost inaudible. He's close enough for his breath to ghost across Tommy's lips, and they both can't wait a second more.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Electricity runs wild and vibrant beneath their skin as their lips connect. Tommy's fingers carefully card themselves through Gordon's hair while Gordon traces Tommy's jaw with his thumb. The kiss starts gentle, but undercurrents of something more despairing travels in the air, and it soon turns urgent. Their hands fly everywhere, from each other's faces, to their hands and arms, to their chests. <em>I couldn't hold enough of you if I tried,</em> the motions speak. Gordon's lungs burn and ache and it's perfect. He's never been happier to be unable to draw in a proper breath, and he swears to forgo ever breathing again if it means never having to break away. He wills the trembling in his hand to cease as his fingers skirt lightly over Tommy's face, returning to his jaw. At that, Tommy moves both arms to pull Gordon even closer, and Gordon pulls on him, and neither of them can ever be close enough as their thoughts echo for <em>more, more, more.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>   It's both an entire lifetime and over in a moment when they separate, only moving far enough apart to rest their foreheads against each other. There's so much they want to say to each other, and they both have a feeling there always will be. Everything is confusing and terrifying, but it's led them both to <em>now</em>, and it's a reality they each feel so appreciative being a part of. Feelings, undiluted, dynamic, wonderfully alive, bubble limitlessly in their chests as their breathing syncs subconsciously. It's as if some untold balance has been struck in the world, being allowed this moment and holding onto each other with all the hope and reverence they can afford.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Together has transcended from an adverb. It's now a declaration against the apocalypse, an assent towards a future outside these walls, a vow for moving forward, an affirmation for how they will stay alive. Together.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow, ok! Chapter 3 is here! I swear, it's getting harder and harder to write with each chapter. Maybe that's just because this is the first thing I'm writing in a while, and there's a bit of a critical eye I have with these chapters now? Either way, thank you so much for everyone who's bookmarked, left kudos, and written comments! I try to respond to all of them. It's seriously so encouraging that people are enjoying this.<br/>I just want to mention that this started as a sort of coping mechanism for a bad bout of mental illness. I'm still currently dealing with that, and although I think I've been decent about getting chapters uploaded, that could change depending on if things worsen. I hope that makes sense! Also, because this was a spur of the moment decision, this story was not planned out at all, so there may be weird blips in terms of continuity or plot points, things like that. I'm sorry if that's disappointing! I'll hopefully get better about this should I upload in the future.</p><p>Umm... yeah! Think that's everything. Thank you so much for reading! Bye for now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings for this chapter in rough chronological order: unreality, mentions of blood, self-harming behavior, detailed descriptions of injury, temporary character death, mild eldritch fuckery, semi-descriptive beginnings of a panic attack, varyingly detailed mentions of emetophobia, fainting/loss of consciousness.</p><p>If you ever need warnings added or think some should be added, please don't be afraid to let me know!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>    The strange thing about simultaneously existing and not existing is how one is both everywhere and nowhere. No longer tied down to a body, consciousness can move and flow without restriction. Like salmon swimming upstream, they take part in a mindless performance that carries them forward, urging a destination that's ultimately be determined by... Fate seems too strong a word. Suggests something important. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's being, from their perspective, is not deserving of a term like fate. They float through eternity, through the pitch dark of the in-betweens, traveling with no sense of urgency in returning to physicality.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Unexpectedly, like the ringing of a bell, like the copper filament of lights on a switchboard igniting, Benrey's attention is captured. Someone is thinking of them. Someone is thinking of them, and the thought is a <em>good</em> one.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The strange thing about simultaneously existing and not existing is how one is both everywhere and nowhere. No longer tied down to a physical presence, Benrey technically no longer exists, and returning to a body is an immensely complex procedure. It used to be laborious and debilitating when few knew them, so they spread themself far and wide, worming parasitically into as many lives as possible. Made friends, the original goal not being companionship. The goal was always a stronger tether. A weightier anchor. Had they died, or needed for whatever reason to detach from their body, Benrey always had an easy return trip.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Now, possibly because the thought of returning to a body, returning to the team, returning to <em>Gordon</em>, feels like it's too much to bear, or maybe because of the hundreds of lives claimed beneath the earth, that number included many of the ones who knew them, returning to reality is the most intense and exhaustive it's ever been.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Muscle spreads tight over the framework of their bones, and blue lightning sprawls and webs through and above in veins, spiriting blood throughout Benrey's reassembling body while skin begins to crawl and stretch. Their least favorite part. It feels like bugs migrating across the tissue, travelling without ambition until they eventually slow and settle.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They idly trace a dent in the metal of their helmet as the itching, creeping sensation continues down to their legs and the fabric of their clothes spool themselves from nothing. Grounding themself, Benrey focuses harder on the thought that bid them return. If it's someone they know well enough, they're usually able to tell. Certain colors and patterns dance across the mind's eye, the sensation comparable to reading a nametag, to associating a color with a person just because it's their favorite.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Once their thoughts are tuning in closer-- no, no way. <em>Gordon?</em> It's Gordon, the warm hues of oranges, deep pinks and reds in striking ovals and squares say. <em>Gordon is thinking of them, and the thought is a good one.</em> Benrey's body clips and jolts in the void, joy blooming in their chest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Does he remember? If not... what had the thought been of?</em> That, too, is something they can more or less have answers for. When concentrating harder... the only mental image Benrey receives is of gentle floating color in pinks and blues. What did that mean? Pondering further, the realization dawns all at once, striking them with all the grace of a passing train. <em>Holy</em> <em>shit- Gordon wants to hear them </em><b><em>sing.</em></b></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Benrey can't wait a second longer. After time ticks by slower than it ever has and their body is finally made whole, they feel for Gordon's signature. The bright orange of the HEV suit. The smell of clean linen, something they picked up on when he passed them on the day of the test. His loving gaze when looking at a picture of his son. So many wonderful pieces of a man Benrey’s fallen hard and fast for. Closer, drawing closer still, they're far too desperate to be there. They wonder what sort of swirling mess their voice will take shape in, what colors they'll palette. Benrey hopes it'll be even better than anything he can imagine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The rooms the team are travelling between cast blinding lasers between them. Coomer and Bubby are talking animatedly, holding hands when not occupied with gunfire. It seems like even through bloodshed, ceaseless fighting, the end of the world, whatever they hold between them has only strengthened. A small smile splays across Benrey's lips. They turn their attention to Gordon and Tommy, and their grin vanishes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   <em>God...</em> Benrey wouldn't have thought he could, but Gordon somehow looks even worse than when they'd left him. <em>Considerably</em> worse. The purples beneath his eyes have darkened deeper and spread, his skin dreadfully pale and glinting beneath the fluorescent lights, and even when not in motion, he trembles hard. His arm... wait. What the hell happened to his tourniquet? Honing in on the thought of it, numbers and letters, <em>an item ID</em>, Benrey finds the tourniquet across the map, a few rooms outside the garbage compactor. <b><em>Shit</em></b><em>, when had it come undone?</em> <em>How didn’t I notice when it happened?</em> A flood of panic oozes beneath their skin. Their nails can't scratch deep enough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His arm's bandaged, at least, but Gordon desperately needs something more. Benrey feels their heart skyrocket into their throat upon noticing the thin trail of blood weaving in and out of the halls. They see how heavily Gordon leans against the doorway, how he tries to stand taller when one of the Team looks his way. Still not wanting them to worry. Still trying to be strong for them more than himself. Benrey's mimic heart feels as though it stalls. They're about to clip into the hallway outside when Benrey tunes into their conversation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Who wants to be the de facto leader?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Bubby says something to the affirmative before heading out of the room, Gordon clarifying his intent after a tired, exasperated laugh.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's only Tommy. I only trust Tommy."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Oh. <em>Oh.</em> Benrey sees how quickly Tommy blushes at Gordon's words. How they draw closer to one another as if under magnetic pull. How they look at each other so fondly, as though the entire world is contained between them. How they repeat their names to each other so softly, holding onto the words with reverence. How Gordon asks Tommy a question Benrey can only ever imagine him asking them in a dream.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Can I kiss you?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Even though they remain physical, Benrey may as well be torn apart as they watch the two close the distance. It's like the sour spread of lemon, the horrible way it sits and lingers on the tongue, the acidity that cuts into the sensitive flesh of the mouth, but rushing across their entire body. They don't doubt that they deserve this, but that doesn't make it easier. The claws of their hands puncture their new palms, blood dripping into the infinite black. Benrey wonders where it'll wind up before remembering that it goes nowhere. They are <em>nowhere</em>. They are <em>nothing.</em> At some point, they've stopped breathing. Not like they need to breathe, but they for so long copied the motion that abandoning it leaves pools of discomfort deep in the marrow of their bones.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    When the two part and move on, Benrey hardly notices, continuing to stare where they had been standing. They clip themself into the closest room, settling atop a crate as their thoughts spiral and curl and break off in a million separate directions. <em>Did Gordon do this to me on</em> <em>purpose? Call for me just so I could watch him fall for someone else?</em> Nails of their hands transposed into claws, Benrey digs them into the crate below hard enough for the wood to creak and moan in protest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Admittedly, they know Gordon has no way of knowing he reached out to them at all, but that somehow makes it worse. It means he really <em>does</em> have something with Tommy, and that this isn't just some move to get under Benrey's skin. <em>Like you'd be important enough for Gordon to do that,</em> their inner dialogue returns. A fierce, acrid feeling weaves itself in confusing patterns through their head. Another security guard, who's been in the room without their notice, has been calling up for the past few minutes, but Benrey hasn't heard any of it. Wouldn't matter. Not like he'll last the day.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A low rumble is growing louder and louder above them. Seems like the Science Team redirected the laser array and is boring their way through the wall. Benrey thinks on that with disconnected interest as rubble rains down onto the floor, scaring the shit out of the other security guard. They just stare, eyes absently following the grid of the tiles, not really there. Just like the tiles. <em>Just like the ground</em>. Benrey's surprised their body isn't falling apart again, seeing as how they definitely don't want to be here. Gaze darting to their right, they catch a shade of orange that makes their teeth grind and their head reel. Doesn't matter. Benrey already has some idea of how this confrontation is likely going to go. They just want to get it over with.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon inches his way down the pipes jutting from the wall, breath catching in his throat like when he first spotted the security guards. <em>Fuck,</em> is he woozy. The two guards Gordon knows wait for them below multiply into six through his eyes. He's not moving his gaze from them for a <em>second</em>. Moving closer. Slowly, slowly... why is the guard on the crate sideways now?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Gordon!"</em> Tommy cries, barely able to grab his left arm and pull him back before he takes the express lane down to the lower floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Holy... holy <em>shit.</em> Tommy, I'm so sorr-" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's head drops to Gordon's shoulder as he gasps and shakes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "P-please, don't <em>fucking</em> do that to- to me again," he mutters, tears fraying his voice at the edges. "God, I could h- I should've watched you more carefully, and I should've... should have gotten you t-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "That wasn- no, Tommy, that-- that wasn't on you, okay? I'm the one who didn't say anything. Didn't ask for- f-for..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Jesus, for someone who poured hundreds of hours into his degree, Gordon sure feels like a fucking idiot. Ignoring the way his state worsens isn't just damaging <em>himself</em>- it's hurting the rest of the Team when <em>they</em> have to deal with the consequences of his avoidance. <em>Why did it take so long to realize this? </em>he wonders. Putting his problems to the side is no longer a choice he makes only for himself, because it's been <em>hurting</em> <em>Tommy</em> in the process. Even if he feels like a burden, a detriment to their chances of escape, he knows the Team- <em>his</em> Team- isn't about to abandon him, so he can't keep treating them all like they will. Gordon's breath hitches as he inhales. One step at a time, and step one is honesty.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I- I don't think... I don't know if I can get down the rest of the way. Think I could... no, yeah. I don't trust my balance right now, dude," he admits, hand trembling against the wall where he steadies himself. "I need your- your help. <em>Oh god..."</em> He suddenly wavers hard, vision blurring, colors dancing and sparking unrecognizably as he falls to his knees. Tommy jumps, hand just barely darting out to keep him from falling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    This confirmed what Tommy's been suspecting for a while now: Gordon has been lying about, or at least hiding, his condition for... he doesn't know how long. Tommy's relieved he finally seems to be coming out of this by opening up, but the fact that he's been covering up how bad things really are, maybe even from the moment they met in the sewers, and the idea that what Tommy has seen so far is only what Gordon <em>wasn't</em> able to hide? It scares him horribly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy motions for him to sit back, leaning down and pulling Gordon's left arm over his shoulders and gently helping him stand. The continued travel down the snaking pipelines is silent, everyone's attention turned to the guard lying on the ground.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "...keep your guns aimed. Keep your guns pointed..." Gordon says, tension in his voice mirroring everyone else's. If one of those guards <em>is</em> Benrey, no one has any idea what they'll do when confronted. The air is thick enough to cut with a knife.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy gingerly removes Gordon's arm from his shoulders to stand at the edge of the pipe, which now bends left and sinks back into the wall. This is the lowest point it goes to... Maybe he can get Gordon to jump to the larger crate below? But that's still a decent drop, and any scabbing the wound's formed will reopen. There has to be something dif-</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh god- <em>AGH!"</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    Shit, shit, </em><b><em>no</em></b><em>. </em>In the few seconds taken to weigh their options, Gordon tried to readjust his stance, and all it took was a foot placed in the wrong position and a sudden pitch in his step to send him crashing down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The wind is knocked from his lungs in a single, painful sweep, but he's more focused on the audible <em>snap</em> he hears from somewhere in his body as soon as he hits the ground followed by searing pain all across his chest. New pangs kindle and burn bright across his back, spine feeling like it's come in direct contact with high voltage electricity. Gordon's brain thrums and rattles in the skull. He only stares up vacantly at the ceiling as blood pools beneath his arm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon doesn’t even hear Tommy jumping down. It's as though in one second, he's alone, and the next, Tommy has appeared at his side. He's wide-eyed and trying hard not to cry, hands shaking above Gordon, unsure of what to do, returning to his lap as they clutch tightly onto each other. Tommy won't look at him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey just listens from where they lay, still high-strung and trapped in their own head about everything, unwilling to give up their bit. They can't find themself worried about Gordon in that moment. At least, that's what Benrey's telling themself. <em>He's done that plenty of times, right? Fallen, or gotten himself knocked out, or... Hey, maybe if he hit his head again, he'll remember-</em> They cut themself off. <em>It's so unbelievably</em> <em>fucked</em> <em>that I want Gordon hurt over this shit.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>   The tremor of guilt from that line of thinking turns into full-blown seismic activity when Tommy gasps and cries out. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Gordon isn't- is- isn't breathing enough! Just these... these fast gasps! You're- something's not r-right! I think he broke some-something, please! You have to do something!" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey feels like they're hearing the words from another room as it reaches their ears in dull, muted tones. <em>Get up. Why aren't you panicking? Get up. </em><b><em>Gordon.</em></b></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Just as Benrey stands and moves fast in closing the distance between them, Gordon pulls together enough lucidity for his eyes to land on them and cloud over with horror, tripling in size before he shouts a single, frantic phrase.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Light 'em up!"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Bullets fly across the room and perforate Benrey from three separate angles. A single positive to be drawn from it all, it's at least one of the quicker deaths they've experienced recently. It just hurts <em>differently</em> this time around. Back outside the walls. Reforming in the void. <em>Ones... zeroes?</em> No. Still nothing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You know how long I spent on coming back? Fucked <em>up!"</em> Benrey screams to no one. The end of their sentence is marked by wild cackling that grates on their new vocal cords. Benrey laughs at nothing. They hate how quickly their body pulls itself together when they're mad. Makes them feel like their very foundation is anger, and that that's all they are. Rage. Destruction. An apocalyptic end. Their eyes reform next. Benrey sobs in the middle of the void. Maybe they all want Benrey to feel this way. That this is what they want Benrey to be- something to rally against. Something to hate. If it means getting them all out? Letting them be happy? Benrey finds themself feeling alright with that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    After reforming, they clip into the nearby hall, head filled with every emotion they have and have yet to feel, and they wait.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The fall could have been so much worse. Coomer suspects a cracked rib based on what Gordon described, but other than that, it doesn't seem like things have grown too much worse aside from the returned blood flow, abetted further when the next room holds a fully charged medical station. Tommy's more than grateful for that, but self-reproach still courses through his body, making his legs tremble as he walks. He continues avoiding eye contact with Gordon fervently. It was all on him. In that instant, Gordon confided in <em>him</em>, trusted <em>him</em>, and Tommy feels he near instantly fucked that up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Gordon's somehow still conscious, and even through head trauma, resumed blood spill, and the heavy shroud of his many near-death experiences today alone, he can tell Tommy's stuck in his own head. Gordon places a shaky, but firm, hand on his shoulder, thumb nervously running circles as he stops Tommy in place, finally forcing the eye contact he's been dodging.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Tommy is <em>not</em> going to break down. He's not going to fall apart to a man in parts himself, isn't going to let himself be absent or unavailable anymore. Every second matters in keeping Gordon alive, and he feels so useless in having to tell himself this in the first place.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Tommy shakes his head, prying himself out from underneath the other man's touch with a step backwards. Gordon stares between where his hand still hangs in the air and Tommy, his expression growing so deeply <em>hurt</em>. He has too much he wants to say, but the words that form in his mind's eye may as well come through in a dead language for all the sense they make. Even if his thoughts would relent and align, nothing Gordon could say feels like it will ever be enough, and that hits and aches someplace deep. He can't do anything right for any of them, even before he was down an arm. <em>Useless. Pathetic. Burden. Why haven't they just left me?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Tears burn at the corners of Tommy's eyes, and with effort that rivals Atlas carrying the world, he turns away, Gordon's expression burned into his brain. Another horrid memory to replay when his altruism turns to self-hatred, and he reminds himself of just how little he's really able to do for anyone he loves.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Now, Gordon's keeping himself behind the Team, which isn't a problem by itself. When he stumbles and pitches to the side, he shies away from the hand Dr. Coomer extends, and holds back while everyone moves ahead. Tommy then hears a hiss of pain, and he turns, apologies on the tip of his tongue, but it's now Gordon's turn to avoid eye contact as he skirts around him and keeps moving.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy wants to plead with Gordon not to go back to pretending like everything is fine, wants to come clean about how awful he feels letting him fall, but his mouth and mind are operating in parallel- so close in coming together, but never actually meeting. Even the chatter between Coomer and Bubby falls silent, the air now tense and troubled around the four of them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Turning off the overhead blades of the space so Gordon can pass through without issue, the group turns into the connecting hallway, where two security guards face each other and speak lowly. Gordon sucks in a breath through his teeth, chest bursting with sharp pain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hey. Please... please don't answer me..." His eyes quickly flit between the two, each guard only regarding him with the vaguest interest. As the two turn to face him, Gordon locks eyes with the one on the right, and he knows in that second that the eyes he's staring into are Benrey's. Deep. Empty. Infinite.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   "No, no. No, no, no, no, <em>no-"</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's at his side in a second, staying in Gordon's peripheral but keeping his attention zeroed in on Benrey.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Look out, Gordon! It's Benrey!" Bubby and Coomer waste no time opening fire, the leftmost guard dropping immediately while Benrey looks down at their own wounds with an empty gaze. Tommy winces when they clear their throat and several bullets drop from the holes that color their uniform like morbid red confetti.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We can't kill them... we can't kill them!" Gordon sounds incredulous, bordering on hysterical. "Why won't you <em>die?</em> Please..." Benrey's avoiding thinking of the way his pleas for them to drop dead sting, so the solution is clear. They just have to busy themself with one of their favorite things: fucking with Gordon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hey, uh... you got one of these?" Benrey draws out the process of sifting through their pockets, holding his eyes the entire time. A slight grin parts their lips like a fault line in the earth, and Gordon is transfixed and terrified. He shudders when Benrey's teeth catch the light and glint. <em>Too many. Too sharp.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "...what? What? One of what?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Slowly, Benrey unfurls and holds out their passport at arm's length, not missing how Gordon practically recoils, and how Tommy not-so-subtly moves himself protectively between them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "H- hold on," Gordon bends at the waist and studies the document carefully. Benrey hasn't actually been lying and fucking around- not completely, at least. There really <em>is</em> a passport he's supposed to have on him. Why has Gordon never heard about it before the day of the test? Why has he been kept in the dark about so many different things until the consequences he couldn't have prepared for arrive to ruin his life? The Resonance Cascade, the morally bankrupt experiments Black Mesa had been running for years right under his nose, the fucking <em>passports</em> now...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Oh my god,"</em> Gordon swallows. A surge of nausea rushes across his stomach as he fights hard against it to keep from doubling over. The sickness layers over itself when Bubby and Coomer follow suit, further feeding the reality and gravity of it all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy doesn't know where Benrey's going with this. Is this <em>just</em> to freak Gordon out? If it is, from what he observes of Gordon's expression, they're certainly succeeding. Although... thinking about it, Tommy has an ace up his sleeve, and Benrey's just given him the perfect play to use it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He pulls out his own passport, with a "Here you go, sir," he hopes Benrey can taste the bitterness of. As Tommy wants him to, Gordon's now moving to look closer at each passport individually.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Bubby... Dr. Coomer, Ph. D...” Tommy feels almost giddy when Gordon's eyes turn to his. "Tommy... <em>Coolatta?"</em> Gordon's somewhere between an incredulous shout and a peal of disbelieving laughter. <em>"That's</em> your last name?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A warm grin breaks across Tommy's face. "Yeah- I'm an orphan, and they let me pick my first- my ow- my last name, but it was- I wa- I was in a Dunkin' Donuts, and I just looked around."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Gordon's wheezing squeaks of laughter fill the hall and Tommy's chest with warm, light feelings. Benrey's still thinking through everything too much to note the way his laugh alone makes something in their head light up-- no, no, <em>nope</em>. They aren't thinking about it. They're pissed with Gordon. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His laughter grows incredibly breathy, tainted with delirium as he pulls back, bumping into Coomer, who’s only barely able to catch him by the shoulders as he veers. Gordon then straightens as much as he can, fixing Benrey with the most intimidating stare he can manage after his bout of laughter has drained him. Seeing the exhaustion return to Gordon's features flips a switch in Tommy's head, and not even fully conscious of the actions, his gun's returned from where it was slung over his back to his hands. He stares, unblinking, at Benrey, mindlessly running a thumb along the grooves of the barrel. Benrey notices.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey... I don't have a passport. I don't.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh, yo, what happ- oh, man, look. You fucked up," Benrey speaks flatly, eyes boring into his right arm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy feels like his throat is closing. Something small and strangled leaves his lips before he can stop it, and he's sure his face is clearly broadcasting exactly how he feels. Benrey meets his glare, and just... <em>shrugs</em>. Shrugs as if this whole interaction is just casual talk around the water cooler. Tommy feels confusion and anger ebb, starting against the back of his head and pounding, sprawling further and further in waves. Gordon meets his intensity, going from zero to a hundred in a fraction of a second.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "<em>Shut- shut- </em><b><em>shut up</em></b>," he spits, sinking venom into every pause.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey tenses. They can't recall a time with Gordon that felt more dreadful and <em>visceral</em> than it does right now. The thought then rings out, clear as a bell: <em>Why am I doing this?</em> Getting Gordon all worked up was fun, seeing how frantic he'd get before always bringing himself back down with laughter, where he would pat Benrey's shoulder, and hold his gaze a few seconds longer than he maybe should have, and...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    This feels nothing like that. It feels so far away from any of that old warmth that Benrey fears continuing will prevent them from ever going back to it again. If they're never able to share how they feel about him, the least Benrey wants is to not lose what they already have with Gordon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What'd you do? Write your name too many times on the blackboard, idiot?" Benrey winces a bit at the harshness that comes through, but it seems as though their jab mostly lands the way they want it to.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon throws his head back. Oh, this- <em>this</em> is the type of laughter that's Benrey's favorite. The kind where the first few beats of it are silent as he just shakes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "H- you're gonna- you're gonna <em>kill me...</em>" The drained fear that Gordon's voice sinks into is <em>not</em> Benrey's favorite.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It's like any stability he's recollected for himself over the last few hours is flipped off by a switch. Gordon stumbles especially hard, head thudding against the wall as he sways, stump hand limply sliding down the surface and leaving a red trail in its wake as he tries in vain to steady himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey is first to react, mostly due to proximity. Their hands leap to his shoulders, pushing insistently, yet carefully, to keep him from falling. Gordon jumps after noticing who's holding him, but then relaxes ever so slightly, giving them a quick appreciative nod and a weak smile. Benrey's breath catches in their throat. Then, surprising all of them as well as himself, Bubby moves up behind them, stepping up to Gordon's left and throwing one arm across his back and keeping the other placed firmly against his chest, all without a word. Tommy just stares at Gordon's right. <em>Should I try to hold Gordon up? With his arm the way it is, even bandaged... and what about what happened earlier? What if he doesn't want to forgive me? What if--</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's thoughts come to an abrupt stop with Gordon's head thudding onto his shoulder and what remains of his right arm raising up, trembling hard before settling over his shoulders. He burrows his head against Tommy's collarbone, and tears immediately spring up behind Tommy’s eyes. He doesn't need confirmation, doesn't have any doubts: he's been forgiven, and the way Gordon's eyes scan across his, it's clear he hopes Tommy can forgive him, too. A dumb misunderstanding and a single slip-up isn't about to keep them apart. Not when either of them have a say.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I-it's okay," Tommy's voice wavers. "It's okay, Gordon. I'm sorry." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon sighs, long and drawn out, tears falling onto the other man's button-up while Tommy brushes his own away with his sleeve.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "Hk-!"</em> The sudden pained noise echoes sharply down the hall as Gordon hunches forward, remaining hand quickly thrown over his mouth. His shallow wheezing devolves into gasps that snag against his throat, making him sputter and cough. To the Team's horror, when his hand moves away, the glove comes back slick with blood.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon notices them all staring, each in varying levels of alarm, his breathing picking up its pace in response. "We gotta get to that cybernetics lab fast," he gets out between gasps. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The way his eyes flit and land on nothing in particular, the quickened breathing, the trembling in his hand... Benrey recognizes it all from before. Gordon has another panic attack coming on. Tommy helped him through it the first time, so maybe they can do that for him now. What had Tommy done? He asked what he needed, he helped him breathe, encouraged him gently as he came down from it...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Calm down, man. Jeez." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It's in this moment that the Science Team learns it's possible to just... completely confuse someone so much that it can cancel an incoming panic attack. A true scientific marvel. Gordon just blinks after Benrey as they move down the hall and out of sight, hoping none of them had caught the way their face was burning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "<em>Calm down</em>, they say," he holds up his arm for effect, glancing from right to left at Tommy and Bubby. <em>"Calm down,</em> they say." He drops his arm back down, and when Tommy looks to him, Gordon's no longer looking back- this strange, empty glaze has fallen over his eyes that indicates he's no longer entirely there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon, you seem to be losing a lot of blood," Coomer speaks, tone holding the nervousness they all feel. "This can cause things such as delirium, exhaustion, death."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The silence grows impossibly loud.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Pff... <em>death!"</em> Gordon huffs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    And then he falls completely limp in the group's arms.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We can't just stay! Harold, we have no idea what's up ahead, or what could be on its way, there's nothing down here to help him, and now we know there's internal bleeding! There..." Bubby trails off.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Coomer takes one of his hands in his own, squeezing. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I understand, and I believe you're right, but Gordon <em>is</em> exhausted... I don't believe he'll be waking anytime soon. Dear Tommy looks like he's seen better days!" He chuckles, bending and patting his shoulder. Tommy blearily smiles in reply as his hand clasps Gordon's tighter. Coomer leads Bubby from the room, talking as they go. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey sits across the hall from the both of them, mindlessly nudging Gordon's foot with their own. They catch themself staring at him frequently, taking in his softened features as though committing them to memory. The way his freckles dust his cheeks in constellations, the rise and fall of his chest in a gentle rhythm, how his hair falls in waterfalls to frame his face... Benrey's realizing they might be a bit hopeless.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Suddenly, Benrey remembers something, and they’re on their feet in an instant, heading back into the room they came from. Tommy's confused, curious, but stays seated, not wanting to disturb Gordon from where his head lies on his shoulder. Tommy, in between wakefulness and sleep, begins humming absentmindedly. Gordon stirs minutely, nestling in closer. Tommy smiles and continues until footsteps approach them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> Benrey's back, now crouching in front of them. Looking up, Tommy sees they have a roll of elastic bandaging, the kind used for sprains, and a broken bit of piping. Benrey clears their throat, nodding their head in Gordon's direction.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Can't find anything that'll work. I'm gonna need his hair tie. Should be around his wrist still," they whisper.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "...huh?" Tommy asks, completely in the dark. Benrey shifts to sit, crossing their legs. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "For the tourniquet. Extra bit to add, makes sure it doesn't come undone."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "...<em>huh?"</em> Tommy repeats, rising in volume. "Wuh- wait, for how- when did you learn to make a tourniquet?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey looks away, eyes taking up the comforting motion of following the tile's grid pattern. "Did it once before... before he, uh... found you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy bolts up, but settles right back down when the man resting against him whines at the separation. He carefully returns Gordon's head to his shoulder and pulls the hair tie from his wrist as asked, returning his attention to Benrey.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You- you're saying you found him... before? And when he- you helped him?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey nods, taking the tie and beginning to put it all together.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I... I've got- you need to tell more than that," Tommy says, expression hardening through his exhaustion. "Please. I want to kn-know what happened."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey sighs. They're infamously bad at saying no to Tommy, and they both know it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Mmh... just... bear with me," they say, securing the shorter tail of the gauze and looping the hair tie around the construct, slumping back once it's finished.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Not great at..." They gesture between their mouth and the open air. Tommy shakes his head, resting his free hand on Benrey's knee.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I think you're a lot better at- at plenty of things than you... give yourself credit for."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You mean that?" Benrey asks, a little too quickly. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Of course I do!" he laughs, playfully pushing Benrey's shoulder. They kick out at Tommy's knee in retaliation, and both soon erupt into little bouts of laughter they keep quiet for Gordon's sake. For a moment, it's the same giddy, happy feeling from when they hung out in their younger years. It was usually on Fridays, when Tommy would plead with his father to visit Benrey in their containment cell, and he would regale all his stories of what he had gotten up to in the week, and Benrey would listen to every word, smile never faltering.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They both straighten, and Benrey takes a careful inhale before beginning. They start right after the Science Team split, relaying everything that comes to mind, and definitely not getting choked up when talking about the times they fought desperately to keep Gordon conscious, or when they caused him further pain... Benrey is also certainly not thinking about how Tommy moved his hand over theirs and squeezes every time they stutter or hesitate.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "He just got all quiet, looked at the ground, and was kinda… nervous, I think. Then, he... he thanked me. The last person he should ever be thanking, but he did. And..." they go red when remembering where this part of the recount is going.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "And?" Tommy presses, watching their expression.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "He- look, I... You've got something, with Gordon. I don't want- I don't want what I've got to say to, you know... hurt that." Benrey hates how small their voice sounds.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy shifts, and pats the empty space to his left. Benrey moves immediately, curling up close and relishing in how warm Tommy is.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It was real stupid, what I did. Selfish, and just... the <em>worst</em> timing," Benrey begins again, voice muffled after burying their face against Tommy's arm. "I think I was... scared, maybe. That it'd be the last chance I got. Still didn't make it okay, though. I just pulled him in, and--Tommy, he was dying, and I just... kissed him." Benrey's eyes shut tight before reopening and slowly dragging back up to Tommy, bracing for disgust, or anger, or anything other than a kiss to their forehead. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey’s hand flies up to the point of contact, eyes wide and suddenly singing a few notes in startled shades of teal. Tommy's never really been one to initiate physical affection, even when they were kids, but Benrey recognizes what he just did as something <em>they</em> did for Tommy when he had bad days, when he would ask Benrey for a hug, as if Benrey would ever say no. Tommy laughs, resting his head on top of theirs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm not mad. I can't e- I don't know what I would've done, i-if, uh... if I was where you were. You being scared, and- and not really thinking things through? I- I think that's more than fair. Or, um... understandable. And... you're looking back on it now, and y- and you feel bad about it! You learned from it. So you don't- I don't think it's fair to keep-- keep hating yourself for it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey smiles, arms curling around Tommy's as they pull themself closer to him. Mentally, they chide themself for ever being worried. This is <em>Tommy</em>. When no one in the world would care to listen, <em>he</em> did, every time. Benrey sings a few notes in a treble, but keeps the usually shrill tone that follows quiet. <em>Indigo to bright green in a high ascent means I'm feeling content.</em> Tommy hums, sinking further against them. Benrey knows he loves when they communicate with him like this. A way he understands them that no one's ever bothered learning. A way he knows them that he learned because he <em>cares</em> and wants Benrey to feel <em>understood</em>. Tommy's snoring softly now, sunken against them uncomfortably in spots, and it's all wonderful.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Tommy's not mad. Tommy cares. Tommy gets you.</em> For the first time in a long time, Benrey's thoughts are soothing and stable. Like the gentle push and pull of waves on the shore, they feel the grasp of sleep begin to sweep over them, the usual apprehension that follows it reduced to a single buoy in a vast sea, no longer an obstacle between them and drifting off peacefully.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Blood loss induced sleep is never really restful or comfortable, but it does still permit Gordon to dream. He's back in the darkened room from the memory he can't fully recall, a medical station being the only faint illumination other than very muted lights nearby. The visuals are blurry, no more than vague shapes and smears of color, but touch is still an active sense, as two cool hands reach behind his neck, and pull him down to them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    All at once, Gordon's world is filled with vivid light and color and sound as he has lips pressed to his own. Saturated pinks and oranges and reds, warm colors everywhere, blotted and streaked like watercolors behind his eyelids after they gently slid shut. He swears he can feel the earth's rotation beneath and around him as he returns the affection. His own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the one who's captured him in their hold syncs, beating together to create a strange and wonderful song only the two of them are to ever hear. It feels like he's blooming. Flowers sprouting beneath where his fingers lay against the other person's chest, uncaring of the unyielding material they wore. Rosy sensations and patterns scattered beneath his skin as his hand reaches up the side of the others' face, grazing over their helmet and moving beneath it to rest on their jaw. When they slowly begin to part, the sensations fading and the world growing dimmer, he opens his eyes, half-lidded and hazy, and gaze into <em>Benrey's.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon wakes with a start. He doesn't remember falling asleep in the first place, which makes his anxiety flare and his pulse quicken. Muscles protesting, he turns to his right, trying to gather any idea of where he is.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Oh. He's still in the hallway where the Science Team ran into Benrey again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Benrey.</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's stomach plummets. <em>Where are they? Are they gone?</em> <em>What if they're-</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His downward spiral is interrupted by a mumble to his left and something shifting at his side. Turning, he sees Tommy sleeping soundly, occasionally murmuring unintelligibly. Benrey's at his other side, arms curled around one of Tommy's. Gordon feels the bitterness fade after taking in how incredibly peaceful Benrey looks. No purposefully blank expression to match their usual monotone. Just... relaxed contentment, lining up with the way their chest gently rises and falls. It makes Gordon's heart hammer harder when remembering what exactly made him wake.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He remembers now. Benrey got him away from the soldiers. Kept him alive. Fixed up a tourniquet. Held and comforted him. <em>Kissed him</em> <em>like it was the end of the world.</em> Maybe it was. Maybe it is.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon just stares, face bright red and brain overwhelmed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    ...what now?</em>
  </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay! Is my writing getting worse every time I post a new chapter? That is for you to decide... (It's yes. The answer is yes.) But... whew! We're at chapter four, baby! I'm still enjoying writing this, I am just... not confident at all. But thanks a ton for everyone who's left kudos and comments. It is... so incredibly encouraging. I appreciate it!</p><p>Oh- I had something to ask! If you're leaving a comment, would you mind telling me whether or not you believe my use of italics is too frequent to the point of being distracting? I'm feeling more and more uncertain about how often I use them, and I'd really like feedback. Thanks in advance if you help out!</p><p>Also, Tommy listens to Tally Hall now. If I can't make my favorites have similar music tastes, then what, pray tell, is the fucking point? LMAO, I don't know if, in character, he'd listen to TH, but it was late, and that song is super soothing to me, so I just shrugged at put that bad boy in there. Hell yeah.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings for this chapter in roughly chronological order: mention of violence and dismemberment, descriptions of blood and injury, very brief mention of a panic attack, very brief mention of emetophobia, semi-descriptive acrophobia. </p><p>If you need something added/feel something should be added, please let me know!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>    He must have fallen asleep again. Gordon only figures as much since he's currently in the middle of waking. The room the Team's moved into is extraordinarily bright, emanating from a large skylight hanging above the exit door. The sharp increase in natural lighting burns terribly, causing Gordon to hiss in a breath and draw a hand over his eyes. Pressing down, bizarre patterns and colors behind his eyelids tack on to the developing disorientation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yo, Gordon?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon gives himself another moment before taking a few experimental blinks. No longer met with overwhelming pain, he opens his eyes as far as the swelling allows. Slowly angling up, in the general direction he believes the voice spoke from, Gordon locks eyes with Benrey, who's kneeling down and their face less than a foot from his own. He's far too tired to startle, though. Far too tired to feel much of anything anymore. He just stares back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   The complete lack of reaction strikes Benrey like lightning. Even earlier, right after losing his arm, Gordon still gave some response to what occurred around him, even minutely, like tracking movement with his eyes or faint expressions and reactions playing out across his face. <em>None of that</em> is present now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As if the touch could shatter him into countless irreparable pieces, Benrey slowly raises their hand to Gordon's, drawing it away from his face and into their hand, never breaking eye contact, thumb absentmindedly running over his knuckles.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You with me?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's voice is so quiet and sincere that any exasperation or apprehension involving them departs Gordon's system. The returned memory plays in the background of his thoughts on loop. So warm, genuine, unspeakably good. The memory of being jumped, of a blade slicing through muscle and bone in unthinkable agony... that's there, too. The contrast leaves a vile taste in Gordon's mouth. Even associating Benrey with this, with pain, he still finds himself wishing he could feel the pressure of their hand. Wishing he could feel anything, really. Wishing he didn't have to be stuck in the suit for what feels like the last hours of his life.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He can't feel it, but Gordon sees Benrey's hand tighten around his.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No, no, don't cry, man. I've- We've got you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Is he crying? Oh. He is. He can feel it now. His vision blurs further. That last train of thought <em>was</em> pretty horrifying... Gordon can't really be upset with himself for crying this time. Dying in the depths of Black Mesa, body entombed in the HEV suit, never recovered and left to rot alone, his son never knowing the truth... Gordon's shoulders now shake violently as he swallows sobs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Uh... can I hug you? It could- could help. Maybe."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He's too tired. Too tired, worn down, depleted, any of its synonyms, to reply with a retort or shy away, to avoid their touch and concern like he doesn't crave it more than painkillers. Gordon nods incredibly slowly, the effort even in something so small feeling so impossibly steep.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey doesn't give further pause. They scoot to his left, all but bouncing in place waiting for him to raise his arm. Benrey slips under as soon as they can and sink into his side, compelling Gordon to release a long sigh he didn't know he'd been holding as they settle further and his tears dry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    God, how bad Gordon wishes he wasn't in the HEV suit. How badly he wants to feel the slight vibrations of Benrey's contented noises whenever they shift against him more comfortably. How badly he wants to feel skin on skin contact again, a sensation Gordon's taken for granted all his life in blissful ignorance. How badly he didn't want the sharp angles and unyielding metal digging into Benrey's face and arms as they hold him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wanted to wait a lil' longer for you," Benrey starts. "I know you didn't get a lot of time, but... I'm not thinking you'll be able to sleep through this next bit. Think it's gonnaaaa be... pretty wild," the part of their expression Gordon can see is something between concern and mild anxiety. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Think you could get up? If I helped?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He really isn't sure, but if Benrey's offering, it's worth trying. <em>Worth trying for them</em>, Gordon's brain supplies. His face would tint pink if he had the blood to spare. <em>Hold on, pause. Hey, uh- what was the deal with </em><b><em>that</em></b><em>, Gordon?</em> he scolds himself. Damn, his brain is fuckin' <em>shot</em>. An encroaching headache further leaves him not wanting to think on it anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As he stands, panting fiercely and perspiration falling fast, Gordon uses the last of his strength just moving his hand off his knees and standing on his own as the black spots on the edges of his vision move about wildly. He immensely appreciates how Benrey's presence never leaves him for a second, their steadying hands a firm, solid occupation against his shoulders. The polar opposite of this feeling makes itself known in an intense, creeping way, filling the air with a raw emotion most closely described as <em>instinctual terror</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Doctor Freeman."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A strange sensation flies over Gordon in a millisecond, and he gapes at the strange blue tint falling over his surroundings. Dr. Coomer's animated hand movements come to an abrupt stop, the hands of the scientist working on the door controls halt completely, and the hands of the great clock pause in their rhythm. The world is completely frozen in time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Seeming to be the only thing spared from the force that stopped earth's rotation, Gordon takes a hesitant, staggering step forward, casts concerned glances at his friends behind him. The complete stillness and lack of noise besides his own breathing and blood rushing in his ears is both a welcome reprieve and incredibly disconcerting. His nausea skyrockets. Before Gordon's body can begin folding in on itself, begging his trembling form to return to rest, the sharp sound of formal shoes upon tiled flooring cuts through the stillness, holding rhythm as perfectly as a metronome, meticulously growing nearer and nearer until a figure arrives in his line of sight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Gordon Freeman,"</em> the man in the suit articulates, as though the words are uncomfortable on his tongue. "It is good to see you and your companions in such... good spirits." He pauses, surveying each of them with a fleeting eye before fixing his gaze on Gordon. "I'd offer to shake your hand, but it seems you're... a little... <em>lacking</em>, in that department, hm?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A sensation of something feather-light passing over his severed arm causes Gordon to jump out of his skin and hold the limb far as he can from his body. The sight that follows, though, makes him pause and draw it back in. The blood that began to escape his... tourniquet? Benrey must have helped him again. Heh... The beads of blood welling up from his tourniquet are suspended in air, some drips lazily falling <em>upwards</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   As if being noticed motivates these strange forces into motion, the droplets suddenly begin to withdraw, sinking back through the bandage and <em>into</em> the wound, seeping <em>back up</em> his veins. The sensation is so unrelenting and alien that Gordon has forgone breathing, lungs then left trying to make up for lost time by drawing deep gasps in and out. The shuddering, strenuous inhalations press Gordon's lungs against his cracked rib in blinding pain that parts his fog of floaty detachment. Back down to earth. Burning and scorched upon reentry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The man turns away, straightening his tie and adjusting the briefcase in his grip. Gordon's anguished sounds almost seem to bother him, in one way or another. Not that Gordon is willing to believe this man has any semblance of concern for him, but there's some level of discomfort there that he can't help but take notice of.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I realize the indiscretion of having a conversation..." he takes a slight pause as Gordon takes a very strained inhale. "...at a time like this, but, I felt it was important to... talk to you properly before you go any further."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon stands, blinking, head whirling a thousand miles an hour to start working again after whatever supernal parlor trick the man has pulled on his arm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   "Ok- okay?" is all Gordon can manage at first, but a further beat of silence prompts him to speak again. "What did you do to t- what is <em>happening?"</em> He hates how he can't stop his voice from sounding so small and nervous. Mercifully, his brain works to tell him that, if this man willed it, Gordon would certainly be dead by now. Instead, the man has done quite the opposite for him so far. He has to see this through.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy, from where he stands by the scientist opening the door, is still able to hear and see everything in unmoving space-time, but his father's abilities have always superseded his own, and he's locked in place. Usually, this isn't something that bothers him. Seeing the thoroughly panicked look on Gordon, though, bothers him <em>quite a bit.</em> Tommy wishes for nothing more than to be able to move against his father's sway so he could stand beside him. Heightened hearing, too, betrays just how terrified Gordon is, heart pounding furiously in its cage. Knowing his dad’s hearing it too and is doing nothing to make this easier for Gordon frustrates Tommy to no end. They'll definitely be talking about this more later, but Tommy resolves to do what he can. Concentrating, thoughts pulling together like several beams of light focusing on a single point, Tommy speaks to his father. </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    Thank you for helping like I asked, but you're scaring him. He's been through enough, dad. Please do what you can to keep him calm,</em> Tommy pleads. A flicker across the G-Man's expression, something missed if not looking for it, and a mental tone of affirmation from him is all Tommy has to confirm his dad’s listening and receptive.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You see, Mr. Freeman... the Resonance Cascade and its repercussions are... merely a prelude to a scheme of events much... grander... than you could comprehend. You've already faced impossible odds and your prospects going forward will only grow... slimmer, and slimmer."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Yeah."</em> Gordon sounds so insurmountably hopeless, so lost and despondent, all conveyed in a single word. Tommy's tried to avoid thinking about how it seems his tone has been losing hope, bit by bit, but now, it's undeniable. His teeth clench down on themselves hard. <em>I am going to give you the hug of a lifetime after this,</em> Tommy's thoughts swear, and he's more than keen to act on it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Perhaps things would have gone a bit better if you'd remembered to bring your... pass-port, hm?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>What. The </em><b><em>fuck. </em></b><em>So much for not scaring him! Thanks for hearing me out, dad!</em> Tommy wants to cry out, but it clearly didn't matter before, and he doesn't want to cause further delay by cutting in. <em>Please, just let this be over.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon sucks down a breath too quickly and deeply against his protesting rib that he's immediately rendered lightheaded. He fights desperately to stay vertical, to not start hyperventilating or vomit across the tile, just long enough to see the man take his leave.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Tommy can tell just how hard Gordon's fighting to stand tall, and it makes his insides feel like a poorly assembled jigsaw puzzle, one where the pieces are forced to fit together when they weren't meant to connect. A bizarre conglomeration of admiration, love, disquiet, and ever-growing fatigue.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "There are some who would say surrender is your only choice at this point, but... <em>I</em> have a vested interest in seeing you succeed, Mr. Freeman. Which is why I will continue to offer you my support, as will... my associates, but the onus of survival... ultimately rests upon you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy knows how thoroughly Gordon will take those words to heart. Not for himself, <em>never</em> for himself, but for his team, co-workers, and complete strangers alike. The burden of mortality has been Gordon's to bear from the moment his hands grasped the rung of that sample cart. It makes Tommy's blood feel icy, moving laggardly through his veins, his thoughts slowing to a crawl to match.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We'll talk again soon enough, but until then, I wish you the best of luck in these... dire... circumstances." The man withdraws, but gives pause and turns back around. "Oh, and... make sure no harm comes to my... <em>progeny</em>, will you?" He flicks a quick glance in Tommy's direction that Gordon misses entirely. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You have a long way to go... Mr. Freeman, but as for me... <em>this is where I get off."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Without warning, the world resumes to life, and it's all far too fast after the extended moments of complete stillness. Gordon reels underneath the returned weight, stumbling until he falls against the wall. The minor revelations. The renewed guilt. He shudders, a sigh leaving his lips so clipped and fragmented that it makes Tommy hurt for him all over again. The price of being in love is steep, but it's never too much to afford. Not for him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey shakes their head and tries to collect themself. They could feel when time stopped, but couldn't actually process or recall anything that happened during the pause. It wasn't like when Tommy did it for them as kids, when he'd sneak in snacks or books into their containment cell. Didn't <em>feel</em> like him. Benrey still raises a questioning tilt of the head in Tommy's direction, and as they figured, he only shakes his no head in reply. If not him, then...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They really don't want to think about Mr. Coolatta right now. Or ever. Probably ever. But what Benrey can think about, maybe all they can think about, actually, is Gordon. Whatever happened... damn, has it rattled him. He's swaying hard again, probably only kept standing by Tommy's hands firm on his shoulders as he speaks in a calming, even voice before pulling Gordon into a hug. Benrey recognizes that tone of voice- it's the one Tommy used for them more than a few times way back when. It makes them incredibly happy, knowing how some parts of life remain as wonderful constants, and Tommy's endless empathy is one of them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Bubby and Coomer exchange glances. Gordon's complete one-eighty doesn't make sense to either of them. Bubby elects to break the silence first.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Why are you just standing there?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon doesn't answer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Dr. Coomer moves forward and pats a hand against his back. Even unable to feel it, Gordon flinches hard at the sound, head turning quickly and eyes darting everywhere before landing on the other man, who gives a brief apologetic look before continuing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I know it's dangerous ahead, Gordon, but we do... need to get a move on."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon views them all separately, carefully, eyes settling a little bit longer on Tommy and Benrey, gaze softening, before he breathes in deep and slow. The first breath he's taken in a while that isn't released in a tremble.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Okay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Falling multiple stories into water with a massive open wound and an uncooperative pair of lungs is <em>excruciating</em>. Getting his chest kicked in over and over or cracking a rib from a high fall onto concrete didn't compare. The pain is unrelenting as it leaves Gordon terribly unstable, groaning as he pitches from side to side and the world blurs into streaks of colors that move at blinding speeds. He falls onto hand and knees, pulling his right arm tight against his chest. Several minutes later, Gordon is still sputtering, lungs impeded and working hard to expel water and blood and burning fiercely with the effort. Benrey stays at his side and speaks soothingly while he goes through it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Gordon feels so pathetic and fragile. He loathes the current cycle of things worsening for him, Tommy or Benrey having to help and comfort him through it, then rinse and repeat ad nauseam. No more. He can't keep doing this to them. He'd rather <em>die</em> before he broke down or needed to be comforted again. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The sound of rapid-fire gunshots pull Gordon to his feet despite how every part of his body screams in protest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Get out of the water!"</em> His voice is frenzied and strained as the gunfire continues. "<em>Come on up!</em> You don't need t- you don't need t- <em>Come on up!"</em> Gordon's eyes dart across the surface, fearfully searching for a glimpse of whoever had been behind him. It's either Dr. Coomer, or... <em>Tommy</em>. <em>Fuck, fuck, fuck.</em> Remembering the alien the size of a small car he'd barely escaped before, the muscles of Gordon's heart tighten oppressively. He still sees nothing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   He hasn't noticed how heavily he's started breathing until Benrey is at his right, their hand an anchor on his shoulder that roots Gordon back in the present. When normally, he would thank them or sink into the touch, Gordon instead jerks back like he's been burned, turns away, and goes to help Dr. Coomer up. <em>Shit, that was way too fast,</em> Gordon thinks. <em>I hope they didn't notice.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Benrey noticed. They shrink back, anxiously tracing the stitching of their vest. <em>What did I do wrong?</em> Gordon seemed fine accepting their help not even half an hour ago. Now he won't even look at them. A foul, incessant feeling they are intimately familiar with infests their stomach and swallows up anything they want to say or do. Benrey just sits down, overlooking the water and the dam where Tommy still sits in wait on the railing. <em>Bet he wouldn't have pulled away if you were Tommy,</em> the thoughts scrape against their skull like rusted barbed wire.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Okay, they're putting a foot down. Their brain's had plenty of chances to give itself a horrible fucking time today, and Benrey is kind of done with it. They still feel like they deserve to feel awful, will probably always feel that way, but it's now just the same three scathing thoughts in slightly differing flavors. Distraction gravely needed, Benrey resigns themself to causing problems on purpose. They block the door of the control tower, flipping their passport open for Gordon again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A strange light stripes across Gordon's eyes before a weary, bemused look replaces it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What? <em>What? </em><b><em>What</em></b><em>?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Cool, right?" Benrey barely holds back laughter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I hate it. It- l- looks a bit shit."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Whoa, wait, huh?</em> Gordon remembers that from way back in the locker rooms? That means he found it amusing enough to commit it to memory just to lob it back at them now. It was a pretty dumb joke- a throwaway thing they'd thought up in the moment. Hearing Gordon repeat it to them, though... it does funny things to Benrey's chest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's pretty cool, Gordon," Coomer teases.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah, I think it's cool. Y'know what's not cool?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They step forward, grabbing Gordon's right arm abruptly, but carefully.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You- you a lil'- you're a lil' clumsy boy, aren't you? Lost your lil' hand there, didja?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon snorts and begins devolving into silent laughter, shoulders shaking with delighted levity. Benrey stares with open fondness. They want to remember this well. This moment with Gordon, briefly making him lose his shit over something so dumb- <em>they</em> did this. Not Tommy, not anyone else. It's <em>Benrey</em> who got Gordon to laugh like this, to indulge in this single instance of joy against all else in the world, against life and death itself. It's <em>perfect.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    From where Gordon's up ahead of them, just at the lip of the storm drain, the Science Team all hear what sounds like two fighter jets streaking past, followed by the sound of Gordon keening with a stifled outcry as he clambers backwards, falling onto Bubby.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What?" the older man barks the question, but concern softens its edges.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon either isn’t hearing him or can’t answer. He just looks out over the cliffs, hand on his chest and inhalations starting to sound weightier, as shocked, nonsensical noises dot the pauses between breaths. Bubby begins speaking simple assurances, trying to keep Gordon from panicking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    None of them can make sense of it. Had the jets scared him this much? They all figure it could be alarming enough, having direct confirmation of the army's strengthening presence that way. Gordon definitely has <em>more</em> than enough right to be afraid of the military specifically, but none of them are confident in that being the sole reason.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But Benrey saw. The skeleton, perched and waiting on one of the wings. Waiting for Gordon. Waiting for Benrey. Closer and closer to the end. Xen’s waiting. <em>Come home</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's hands ball into fists, fingers digging into their skin with a small, sharp bite of pain that's just enough to pull them out of their head. Moving to follow the others out of the pipe, Benrey is halted by a hand clasping his wrist.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "H- hold on," Tommy speaks, voice bordering on discomfort.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He moves his hold from around Benrey's wrist to their hand, turning it over so their palm faces upwards. Four clear indents now beading blood have punctured their upper palm. Tommy doesn't look mad, or ready to yell at them, he just looks so, <em>so</em> heavyhearted. Benrey wishes he would've yelled at them instead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The blood flow has already stopped as their wounds mend themselves, but that doesn't stop Tommy from fishing around in their supply bag to find bandages, retracting a couple from his front pocket and pulling off the backings with his teeth. Tommy then stretches Benrey's hand out flat, laying down the adhesive side and adding such gentle pressure to keep them in place, being so extraordinarily careful as to not push down directly over the cuts. The way Tommy handles them, like they're something worth the care and attention makes Benrey feel so light and abounding with such wonderful warmth that their face grows rosy to match.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Even in the low lighting, Tommy can see their shift in color, and that makes him grow red in turn. That's something about Benrey that he both adores about them and aches over: the smallest, simplest gestures were always earth-moving for them. Things like remembering their favorite snack, letting them ramble nonsensically about which scientists they could beat in Smash, or returning their many different forms of physical affection, they all meant <em>so</em> much to Benrey that, every time Tommy did something like that for them, they revered him with this incredibly fond, loving expression, as though he was the one to hang the stars in the sky, and he had done it just for them. With how he feels looking at them, Tommy could be convinced that he had.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Whatever caused them to drift apart, they're now both swearing to themselves to never let it happen again. Tommy's still fully acquainting himself with just how much he's missed Benrey. Reading their voice in the air, their quips and jokes, how they can be both so playfully antagonistic and one of the most caring people he's ever met, just... everything about them. Now that he has that back, Tommy isn't about to let it leave his grasp again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Meanwhile, Benrey has the sneaking suspicion that they never <em>really</em> got over their childhood crush on Tommy. They admitted their feelings at the time, but Tommy couldn't return them, knowing his dad's near omniscience and his distaste for Benrey was a losing combination. Tommy also told them that he had been the first and really only person who had shown Benrey empathy and understanding, and that they might be confusing feelings of love with feelings of appreciation. At that, they had left it be. A strange, not-quite resolution that never really sat right between the two of them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Hold on: Benrey is also now realizing that this means they have a thing for <em>two</em> of their friends who are <em>already together</em>. With <em>each other.</em> <em>Hmm. Hmm! Not great!</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Jolting Benrey from their swirling thoughts of profound affection and gay panic, Tommy switches hands to hold Benrey's uninjured one, pulling them towards the drain's mouth and flashing a million-Watt smile their way. It makes Benrey's throat swell with song they adamantly refuse to sing, colors welling up in warm tones that leave tastes of citrus in their mouth. <em>Burnt orange to light yellow like warm greetings means I have returning feelings.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We should- should probably catch up!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey nods, but they would have agreed to just about anything Tommy said if it means they get to keep holding his hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The day has been an absolute whirlwind. If any of them were asked how they gotten where they were now, they would each be able to give fragments and snippets, but ultimately be just as unclear as someone looking in from the outside.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The trek across the narrow, jagged cliffside paths has gone about as well as it could have, even against the overwhelming dread of height alone. Laughter and wisecracks were flying as frequently as military ammunition, but for the most part, the air still felt light and content.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Like most good things in Black Mesa, it didn't last long.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What on <b><em>god</em></b><em>?"</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The Science Team throws everything they have at the massive congregation of helicopters, missiles and RPGs, but it doesn't seem like it's doing a thing no matter how long they keep at it. The Team decides without deliberation that getting away is their best, or maybe only, course of action.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    One second, Gordon's at the base of the ladder. The next, he's gone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The sandstone cliff crumbles out from under him, and Gordon sees his life flash before his eyes for what has to have been one of hundreds of times that week, and he's falling in horrible weightlessness. It can't have been more than a few seconds, but Gordon relives his entire week up to that point in horrid detail. The Resonance Cascade, hundreds of dead co-workers and aliens. Gunfire and blood and tears. Whispers, hand ripped from his body. Gentle, wonderful love.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His recollections end when Gordon's feet solidly make contact below him, a current of electricity jolting up his legs. He's fallen about a story before a ledge just wide enough to stand on has caught him. The deafening roar of the helicopters drowns out his frenzied cries for help. <em>Who am I even calling out to? What can they even do? I wish I could've told him "I love you." Properly. Just once. I wish I could've told them I remembered.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Suddenly, hands in a vicelike grip are around him, and Gordon's being hoisted up at breakneck speed, and... he's alive. Eyes blinking, but at first unseeing, his friend's faces slowly start to come through one at a time. First, it's Dr. Coomer, extended arms retracting and hands still tight around Gordon, staring with fearful eyes and eyebrows creased deep in fear. Then, Bubby, looking as helpless and frightened as he did when they found him in his tube. Then... Tommy, both hands clasped over his mouth as he shudders and hiccups, and Benrey, eyes wide, glassy and unblinking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon only has a second to take all of this in before Tommy and Benrey practically tackle him, hands and arms flying up to hold onto him as tight as they can. Tommy's cries intensify as Benrey just burrows their face into his shoulder and shakes silently. Gordon elects to run his remaining hand up and down Tommy's back, wishing he could do the same for Benrey. He rests his chin on their shoulder instead. Benrey shakes harder. Coomer moves and sits behind him, arms circling his waist as he rests his head against Gordon's back. Even Bubby steps forward, placing an unsteady hand on one of his shoulders, waiting until Gordon looks up at him to speak a sentiment they all shared.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Don't. <em>Ever.</em> Fucking do that to us again." He tries hard to sound angry, but the way the doctor's eyebrows are turned down in fervent worry and the way he soon after lowers himself beside Coomer gives him away completely.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Now, here they are. Five people huddled together on a cliff just barely wide enough to support them all. Some crying, others keeping their woes silent, clinging onto each other like they're all that's left. Seeing so very little of the outside world, maybe they are.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Physically, no words are exchanged. But through touch, through proximity alone, there is infinite communication. There are words of immense relief, of <em>"Thank god you're still with us,"</em> through the strong hands that pat Gordon's back and don't pull away once they finish. There are words of fear and disbelief, of <em>"I don't know how you're still here, but I'll never stop being grateful that you are," </em>contained in the trembling arms that are woven and tangled around Gordon from all sides. There are words of affection, of extreme fondness, of <em>"I love you, I love you, I love you, please don't leave me alone," </em>within in the shaky hand running through his hair, in the thumb that moves soothingly back and forth over Gordon's cheek. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There they are. There, Gordon wishes they could stay. He knows they can't, but he can imagine. He takes comfort in the fact that even when they pull apart, <em>this</em> isn't going anywhere. The unspoken bonds they all expressed will always be here between the five of them. Gordon is, for all intents and purposes, home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh-hoh-kay, here we are! Chapter 5. Bit of a shorter one- wanted this chapter to end where act 3 does, but it just felt very forced, and I think I found a nice enough spot to cut it off, so I did!</p><p>I have another favor to ask like I did at the end notes of chapter 4. I'm not going to be upset, not gonna quit the story, or anything of the sort, but if you were willing to leave a comment in the first place, could you also be honest and tell me if you think the quality of my writing is starting to dip? </p><p>Like... I don't want to continue this story if it's starting to become hard to follow, or worse, is becoming nonsensical entirely. My mental health has taken one hell of a decline, which is also the reason updates are becoming further and further apart, and it's very hard to trust myself on these things, so I'm really hoping for the feedback. I hope me mentioning all of this doesn't seem like I'm just trying to garner sympathy. I just want anyone reading to understand what's going on with me and why the story is the way that it is.<br/>Thank you so much if you do leave comments! It is very much appreciated and I try to always respond to them.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings for this chapter in rough chronological order (some warnings may repeat at a later time in the chapter): brief mention of blood, brief mention of impalement, non-detailed fainting, semi-descriptive shock, semi-detailed infection, non-detailed, brief breakdown, detailed description of pain, lightly detailed panic attack, mention of amputation.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>    Coming together on the cliffs sparked something new in each of them. For Gordon, it's that little bit of perseverance he didn't know he had. For Tommy, it's the ardent love and admiration he holds for Gordon and the return of something good with Benrey. For Benrey, it's the distant dream that this can last. That they've found something here, in the four of them, that they'll always be a part of. Benrey doesn't think of home. Doesn't need to. If they continue hoping, maybe home can be right here.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The Science Team has finally found someplace quiet, someplace where taking a break doesn't feel <em>as</em> likely to wind up getting them all killed, despite the distant military radio chatter from somewhere above. It feels like everyone’s finally wound down from the shock of what transpired on the cliffs and are now all excitable, almost giddy, as they laugh amongst themselves and talk about anything and everything that comes to mind.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon leans heavily against the wall, continually jumping awake from the light doze he keeps slipping into. Guess it'll have to fall to Benrey to keep him up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Drink up, <em>buddy</em>," they muse, suppressed laughter in their voice clear as they throw a can Gordon's way.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm not thirsty," Gordon snorts, sounding weary, but still grinning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>That</em> gets them both going. Starting on some dumb back and forth, Benrey quizzically grills Gordon about his arm and Gordon gives half-shouted replies with no real bite behind them, Tommy just watching the exchange and chuckling to himself. Benrey makes sure the words hold no real weight, and it makes them infinitely relieved that Gordon's feeling okay enough now to at least joke with them again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I could drink <em>soda!</em> Forever." Maybe it's the bizarre delivery, maybe it's just the sentence itself, but Gordon cuts himself off and erupts into laughter. To their elation, it's Benrey's favorite type, the kind that's mostly silent while his body jolts with the motions. They even think they see tears at the corners of his eyes, shut tight as he doubles over.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The tourniquet's no longer needed and has been dismantled, but Gordon hasn't taken the hair tie back and pulled his hair up or asked anyone to do it for him. So it’s stayed loose, cascading over his shoulders and down his back in curls that shouldn't look half as nice as they do, given how weighed down they must be with blood and sweat and god knows what else. The reflected light from the too blue water beneath them washes over him, almost seeming intentional with how wonderfully it frames him. His grin is a sight that never gets old to Benrey. A warm, remarkable thing. A smile that holds all the force and brilliance of a supernova. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Affection is building far and fast, and Benrey feels like they'll explode if they don't express it. They close the distance, and move in to press a kiss to Gordon's cheek... right as he turns his head to follow the motion. Benrey's lips land right at the corner of his mouth instead, and upon processing that, they pull back fast, face immediately pink. <em>Holy shit, why did I do that? Why did it have to turn out like that? Why, why, why?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Did you just try to kiss me?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <b><em>Why, why, why, why, why--</em></b></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "...huh?" <em>Saved it.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Gordon glances to Tommy the same time Benrey does. Tommy looks a little taken aback, but not upset in the slightest, and meets Gordon first with a small shrug and a smile, then a raised eyebrow and a smirk to Benrey. Their throat swells with what has to be the most confusing array of colors they've ever palleted. <em>What does that reaction even </em><b><em>mean</em></b><em>?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "What was that noise?" Gordon teases, casting quick looks all around him as he 'searches.'</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey, you'll just have to kiss him after we leave," Bubby ribs. Benrey only frowns and glares his way.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Save the- save the lovin' for later," Gordon continues, patting their shoulder. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    ...<em>aaand</em> any slight blush that dissipated is right back across Benrey's face. <em>He </em><b><em>has </em></b><em>to have misspoken, right? He can't actually mean--</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon then laughs at something Coomer said they didn't catch, and moves up ahead. When it seems as though they're all out of earshot, Tommy hops down from where he'd been sitting, hand on Benrey's back as he laughs. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You've got it bad."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah, well! 's not my fault Black Mesa's just... hiring handsome dudes left and right."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Dudes? As in plural?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey freezes, eyes darting everywhere across Tommy's expression. His tone sounds more like he's testing the waters on something rather than asking an actual question. <em>Is he... doing this on purpose?</em> Okay... Benrey'll bite.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Whuh- yeah. Plural. Multiple."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Is that right?" Tommy teases. "Who- who else?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey tenses. <em>All in or cash out!</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "Well- you. Clearly."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy goes a deep red the second those words are out. He anticipated some odd beating around the bush, or just a 'huh?' and the conversation to be dropped altogether. He <em>never</em> expected to Benrey to be so upfront.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Really?"</em>  his response comes so quiet, barely above a whisper, taking Benrey so thoroughly by surprise that they step backwards in a daze. <em>Why does he sound almost... excited?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Tommy moves away before Benrey can say anything more, starting up a conversation with Gordon. This feels... weird. Not a <em>bad</em> weird, though. Looking back on it all, Tommy hasn't ever seemed uncomfortable with Benrey's thing for Gordon, and didn't get upset when he noticed them staring at him and getting flustered earlier. <em>Was this okay? What if—</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "Let's keep goin'!" Gordon encourages, and Benrey follows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey feels like they're following something else, too. A pathway with so many bends and forks, they can't possibly see where it will end up. They have never been happier to be in the dark.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The Science Team barely makes it into an open garage before the resumed barrage of airstrikes intensifies, then stops. Only in the ensuing silence do they all hear something dripping to the asphalt, turning in time to see Gordon slowly sliding down the wall while holding onto his left side.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon huffs, teeth clenched, chills and pain rolling over him in droves. His hand in Benrey's tightens its hold as Tommy steadies his hands over the shrapnel laying along his ribs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You've got it. We're right here. Just- just hold on. It's gonna be fine. It’s all fine. It’s all good.” It sounds like Benrey's trying to comfort themself more than him, but Gordon welcomes the words regardless. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "This is- I- this is all that's left, then we can use the station, Gordon," Tommy's voice shakes with every word. "Ready? Three, two, one..." He pulls, scrap dislodging with a horrible noise of constricting muscle and blood spill, followed by metal clanging onto the blacktop.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon writhes, taking in very quick, short gasps in between groans and muffled cries. He briefly considers pulling his hand away to clutch above the wound, but that would mean letting go of Benrey, and he desperately doesn't want to be alone. He knows logically that they're both still right there, but he can barely see them, eyes swimming with tears and blurred with new pain that meshes and tangles itself with all the rest. Gordon just... doesn't want to be alone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's shoulders feel impossibly tense and his mind’s clouded over with a million different feelings. Intense regret that he didn't watch out for Gordon better. Creeping dread at the military's increasing strength. Restlessness at sitting still- they can never be still for long. He heaves a strained sigh, initially dull headache now rising to a migraine. Benrey hears him, and instantly holds out their free hand in offer. Tommy takes it eagerly, meeting their eyes with a grateful gaze. </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "Thank you,"</em> he mouths.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey really has to do something on their part so that those two little words don't have <em>such</em> an effect on them every time. Receiving gratitude from someone they care about makes Benrey feel like they can do much more than move mountains- they could shape and shift the entire globe however they want. Create, carve out, and sculpt someplace completely new, just for the three of them. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Now, there's an idea. A place entirely for themself, Tommy, and Gordon. A place where Benrey can keep them both close, watch over them, and neither Black Mesa nor anything else in the universe could hurt any of them again, and this little slice of the world would be entirely theirs. Benrey would get to brush Gordon's hair, taking all the time in the world. They would finally get to meet Sunkist, card their fingers through the fur Tommy describes as perfectly soft. They would sleep and enjoy it, falling asleep in between the two of them every night-- <em>Wow, okay, holy shit, time out. Can't be doing that right now.</em> Benrey shakes their head and, with tangible disappointment, returns themself to reality.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon needs to stand for his hand to reach the station. Three separate attempts have been made now, each ending with Gordon begging desperately to be set back down, his gasps sounding more like they're choking him rather than letting him breathe. Slouched back, shudders traverse his body as the world comes through Gordon's senses both in slow motion and fast forward, in shapes that refuse to form any cohesive picture. <em>Something's wrong,</em> his thoughts speak distantly, but Gordon doesn't react to them at all. He knows Benrey and Tommy are talking to him, one of their hands even waved in front of his face at one point, but his mouth won't move, thoughts won't supply him with words. His mind is quickly becoming blank, the foggy emptiness <em>bliss </em>compared to the other option of poker-hot pain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Please, Gordon,<em> talk to me!"</em> Tommy begs. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon answers by fainting. As he slumps onto Benrey, they can only stare in shock as he fills their arms. Tommy's trembling hands clasp his mouth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey, what's <em>happening?"</em> he cries. "What can we- what do we even <em>do?" </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "I- I don't..." Benrey stutters, looking helplessly to the life ebbing in their grasp. <em>He's dying,</em> the thoughts slither and coil around their brain.<em> Breathing's too shallow, too quiet. He's dying. Gordon's dying, and you can't do a fucking thing. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "Wait," Benrey speaks, forcing their acerbic thoughts to a stop. "No, I- I know what this is." And they do. From the medical journals, what feels like a lifetime ago that's still somehow the same day, they vaguely recall skimming through a section about shock, its types, how to treat it. Benrey's going to remember it all if it <em>kills</em> them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Alright, hey- help me get him on his back. And... we gotta keep his legs raised a little. I think it's- I think it's shock, Tommy."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Sh- shock? But when di- why would it be happening <em>now?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He raises a good point. Why is it making itself known now?<em> Think.</em> There's hypo- hyper-- shock from blood loss, and Benrey recognized it when Gordon experienced it earlier, but he hadn't bled enough from the shrapnel to warrant shock. Cardiac shock- <em>god,</em> what if he's lost enough blood to- no, hold on, that can't be it. Tommy's dad stopped the bleeding from his arm, and this would've happened sooner. Shock from something blocking the bloodstream? They feel fairly sure that isn't it, either. That leaves...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Distributive."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Distributive," Benrey repeats. "Type 'a... type 'a shock. I think that's what--" they freeze.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy, take the gauze off."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy listens, feeling completely out of his depth and putting full trust in Benrey. They both recoil hard when the last of the gauze is unraveled. The point of amputation is <em>very</em> clearly infected, yellow-green blotches staining the bandaging everywhere, skin above the wound an inflamed, angry red.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "F-<em>fuck..."</em> Benrey stutters.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    “You're all taking your goddamned sweet time, when will we—“ Bubby stops entirely when his eyes land on Gordon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   <em>"Oh my</em> <em>god.</em> What's—"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Coomer, pick Gordon up so- so his hand'll reach the station, please. Someone else needs to look around, see if they have a spare kit. Think bandages and, uh... disinfectant."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Bubby swallows, nodding shakily, and as soon as he manages to tear his eyes away from Gordon, he's gone. Coomer does exactly as asked, taking Gordon up into his arms as though both he and the suit weigh nothing. Tommy just stands stiffly to the side, watching everything with wide eyes as the churning, shifting gears in his mind work in a hundred different directions. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey steers Gordon's hand into the slot, the other shifting and gripping the suit at its elbow joint. A reflexive twitch, and the station sets to work. Benrey is absolutely <em>despising</em> themself for not picking up on what should have been clear signs of something wrong earlier. Gordon had been pale for a while, even as he stood beneath the unrelenting sun and exerted himself with jumping, climbing, you name it. That wasn't even mentioning how he had somehow seemed more tired than he already had been, dozing off every time the Team came to a stop without fail, and now that his face was close to theirs, Benrey can observe a shade of blue has started to overtake his lips like before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Their observations are put on pause as Gordon stirs, shifting and wincing in Coomer's arms. His breathing picks up faster alongside incoherent mumbling. Once the station's depleted, Coomer returns Gordon to the ground, taking care in propping him against the wall before leaving to find Bubby. Benrey pulls Gordon's legs over their lap, elevating them just a bit as his wakefulness walks the border of lucidity without crossing into it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wh<em>- where?</em> Where...” Gordon sputters, remaining hand rising shakily and hovering in the empty air before him. At this, Tommy’s finally able to get out of his head and lower himself beside him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon," Tommy speaks as soothingly as he can manage, taking Gordon's hand and stilling its delirious motions. "You're okay. We're- we're not going anywhere, we're all right here... just close your eyes. You’re alright," Tommy murmurs, leaning in and kissing his forehead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon relaxes visibly at that, and Tommy wrings his shirt in his fist at the sight. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Okay," Gordon agrees hoarsely, somehow managing a small smile, squeezing Tommy's hand once before his eyes slide shut and his shoulders slump.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The fact that Gordon can be comforted this way from his words and affection alone makes Tommy feel like he's entered orbit. Absence of gravity, heart floating outside his body, drifting endlessly in the wonderful expanse of space. <em>How did I ever get this lucky?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Benrey watches the two of them, so filled with emotion that they don't get held up on the should and shouldn'ts, don't let self-hatred keep them away. There's too much overwhelmingly good feeling to keep it in. Benrey leans in, kissing Tommy's cheek, then Gordon's, and withdrawing with a gentle, fond smile. A smile Tommy has never seen before or so much as <em>imagined</em> he'd get to see on them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That's it. That's the breaking point for the tears Tommy's been fighting hard to keep at bay. He sobs, and <em>really</em> lets himself sob, while Benrey holds him, speaking pacific words and singing through all of it. <em>Sea foam means you're never alone.</em> <em>White to gray means you'll be okay. Cornflower blue means I'm here for you.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    After finally reaching a point where he couldn't have cried a second more even if he wanted to, Tommy palms his tears away and holds all his attention on Benrey. He watches as their initial tension at being scrutinized melts into such a softhearted look that it almost immediately makes Tommy's face warm. Without knowing he's doing it, Tommy has a hand on their cheek, drawing ever closer, and closer...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "They've each been used, but this is all we've got," Bubby interjects, returning with two battered first aid kits and absolutely oblivious to what he's interrupted. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy’s on his feet in a second, thanking him and taking the kits he spoke of. He rejoins Benrey on the ground to sift through their contents. Bubby gives Benrey a quick nod of acknowledgement and steps back out of the garage.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "...Tommy?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He doesn't answer, brows furrowed as he surveys what little is usable.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy," Benrey calls again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hmm?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What- what <em>was</em> that?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What was wha- <em>oh,"</em> Tommy's voice drops as what he'd done, or almost done, finally catches up to him. "B- Benrey... I did- I didn't--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Nah, it's okay. You've got Gordon, man. We can forget it, no problem." It's <em>very</em> much so a problem, but Benrey loves having Tommy in their life again, and they're ready to do anything to keep that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What? No, no, that's not what-" Tommy runs a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself with a slow inhale. "That's not... what I was trying to say, and- you like him, too, but you're still--" he stops, taking an extended pause as words rumble along his train of thought.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I don't <em>want</em> to forget it, Benrey," he finishes, voice impossibly soft. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Both the words and the tone force the air from Benrey's lungs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Y- you- you don't?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> Tommy shakes his head, smiling to himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon... he makes me feel like it wouldn't even- that holding the world in my hands wouldn't even come <em>close</em> to anything I could feel with him. And you... since we met, even, you've made me feel like- like I've got something I couldn't find anywhere else, if that- if that makes sense." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy pauses to sort what they have, formulating what he wants to say next just as carefully.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm not s- I don't know how Gordon feels about you. Maybe... maybe he doesn't either!" he laughs. "But what I can know- what I <em>do</em> know is how <em>I</em> feel, and how I feel is... I like you. A lot. You're surprising me all the- all the time, and in the best ways! I want to keep that as close as possible."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey wrings their hand hard into their vest. They feel like they could splinter into infinite pieces, some small enough to disappear from sight, reduced to shards fated to drift amongst atoms and cells, to be lost in placid wonder at the thought of being loved alone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We'll have to talk about this later. When it's... all of us," Tommy ends his sentence in a sigh, gracing Gordon with a look both wrought with worry and brimming with affection. A strange, melancholy combination that leaves a sour taste in the back of Benrey's mouth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah," Benrey swallows. "Yeah, sounds like a plan."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    From the moment he begins to wake, the world returning to Gordon is heavily intertwined with shooting, stabbing pain. Blinding, intense discomfort on all sides, everywhere, body torn apart and reconstructed on a foundation of hurt. Bullet wounds, acid burns, forming scar tissue, a <em>missing limb.</em> No longer a person, no longer human, only a shell for pain to crawl into and make a home of.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Fff<em>fuck.</em>"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A peal of laughter rings out from someplace above him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah, fair. You look awful, man."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Eyes slowly pulling themselves open, Gordon is still outside, at least partially, a setting sun streaking deep reds and oranges across the sky from an opening at the top of what looks to be some sort of storeroom. A red utility light is the only other illumination, a dull buzz emanating from it and echoing off the concrete walls. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The sharp sting now radiating through his eyes doesn't compare to the nauseating burning that occupies his missing arm, or the prickling variety of hurt that dances up and down his side where the shrapnel was. His head throbs horribly, enough to where Gordon can both hear and feel his pulse in the back of his skull. His eyelids are impossibly heavy, seconds from sliding closed again if not for the sight of the hand clasped around his own moving upward.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "T-Tom--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He doesn't even get to finish before Tommy pulls him into a hug Gordon swears could crush the suit's plating.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Hff-!</em> Tommy, buddy, I missed this, but my- shit, shit, wait, <em>shit, Tommy,</em> my <em>stomach--</em>"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy pulls back fast and Gordon crumples inward, panting and expiring a string of curses under his breath, remaining hand trembling heavily where it lays above his left side.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I- I'm so- so sorry, Gordon, I wasn't thinking—" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hey, I'm not-" he cuts himself off to choke out coughs that end in horrible, wheezing gasps. The sounds that come from Gordon only make Tommy's guilt dig its roots in deeper.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm not mad, man. <em>God,</em> you don't know what I'd- I would kill for a hug right now," Gordon tries to laugh, but it just comes out as a raspy exhale, every breath he takes between continued coughs sounding worse than the last. Any relief Benrey and Tommy felt at him being conscious again has been completely smothered. When he's finally able to inhale without it breaking off into hacking, Gordon is spent, slumping down the wall like his muscles have been liquefied. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Where... what- where are we?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Found someplace to sleep," Benrey answers. "It's quiet, out of the way. Figured, uh, y'know. This's the best place we've come across in a while."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon only nods, or hopes he does and didn't just think of doing it. When he's gathered enough energy to pull his eyes back open, he finds a lot more of it in the form of an adrenaline spike. There, laying only arm's length away, is a skeleton. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "H-hey, hey, hey, hey, <em>hey,</em> that's not- <em>please</em> tell me you see that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You're- you're talking about the skeleton, right? We- I see it, Gordon. It, um... showed Benrey their passport and- I don't know why it has one, but- now, it's just sort of sleeping? I don't- I'm not actually sure if it <em>is</em> sleeping, o-or if it... needs to? But it hasn't done anything else so far," Tommy says, nervous falter ticking up at the end.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh," Gordon says blankly. "How about that." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's shallow inhales and exhales abruptly jump to deep gulps that shift faster and faster as he hyperventilates.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Shit, hey, <em>hey</em>," Benrey pleads, sitting down next to him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Breathe with me, Gordon," Tommy says softly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Th- that's not... why is it <em>here?</em> I'm— <em>I'm gonna</em> <em>die."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yo, no, what? You're not going anywhere. They're not gonna hurt you, no one's gonna hurt you when you’re with us. You picked the toughest dude to be your best friend. I take bullets and shit real good, you've seen me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon snorts despite himself. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "C'mon, man. Relax the shoulders," Benrey mumbles, hand now on his shoulder and putting down just enough pressure for him to feel some semblance of it through the suit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon hums appreciatively, missing the red that flickers across Benrey's face entirely in favor of heeding their words and letting the tension go as much as he can. He now has enough presence of mind to tune in to Tommy's soft, pleasant comforts he's been speaking from the start.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You with us?" Benrey asks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon nods.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Give me... five things you see," Tommy asks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "The wall- wall light."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "That's one," Benrey counts, hand still on his shoulder as they scoot closer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Coomer. Bubby," Gordon says, looking on with a smile at the two in each other's arms, hands clasped together and chests rising and falling evenly. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Sk- <em>skeleton-"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "Something different, Gordon," Tommy stops him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey," he articulates softly, paying attention to the way their name feels as he speaks it. Gordon feels their hand go stiff before relaxing, and Benrey's keeping their eyes away and down. <em>Are they okay? </em>Gordon wonders distantly, but he continues.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> "Tommy," Gordon finishes, sounding so relieved, expressing gratitude through an exhausted, handsome smile. Tommy’s heart races, and never does he think he's so clearly felt the beating of it as it spirits blood through his body. Tommy doesn't even process that he's bent down and pulled Gordon against his chest until a soft noise of surprise reaches his ears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Shit, I'm sorry—“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon cuts him off with a short laugh, wrapping his arm around Tommy's back and nearly pulling him onto his lap with the force exerted. <em>What the fuck- how is he still </em><b><em>this </em></b><em>strong?</em> Tommy holds on tighter, still marveling Gordon's strength, both physical and mental, how wonderful it is to be loved by someone so strong.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> "Benrey?" Gordon looks over his shoulder. "You getting in on this, or are you waitin' on a written invitation?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Uh, yes please." They close the few inches of distance left between them, slotting themself on Gordon's right, arms quickly wrapping around his waist as Benrey buries their face against his back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "That can <em>not</em> be comfortable, man. What-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Mmh... don't care," Benrey huffs, proving their point by squeezing him tighter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon and Tommy laugh, relenting to their insistence to bask in the following silence. Silence isn't a pleasant thing. Not here, at least. Means something's lying in wait, something with enough of a mind and enough malintent to move silently. Means death and destruction, where silence is the only thing left. Between the three of them, though, silence is a warm, comfortable commodity. Means that they're content enough in each other's presences alone that the silence is never unpleasant or heavy. Means that they're almost certainly thinking of each other, the silence always encouraging their wandering thoughts and affections.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey?" Gordon speaks, just above a whisper.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Silence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I remember."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Silence again, a bit less comfortable than it was before, charged with questions and answers.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wh- <em>huh?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "I remember before. Most of it, or... or the important parts. You- shit, man, you <em>saved</em> me." Gordon sounding choked up makes Benrey look to his face before burying themself against his back again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I also <em>got you there</em> in the first place," they mutter, words heavy on their tongue and even heavier in the air.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You- no, you look at me right the fuck now." Gordon sits himself up, biting back a wince. He pries Benrey from his back, and steadies them with a hand cupped to their cheek. Benrey jumps a bit at that, but holds his gaze.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You told them to- to jump me, sure. But I <em>know</em> you didn't tell them to <em>rip</em> <em>off</em> my fucking <em>arm</em>," Gordon rasps, an unidentifiable tremor running beneath. "I remember all- all of it. Before I passed out, right after they took my arm? I remember everything you all said." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's stomach plummets. <em>He was </em><b><em>conscious</em></b><em> for that?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "When Tommy begged them to stop. When Coomer said he c- couldn't... couldn't help," Gordon sniffles. "When- when Bubby said 'Well, whatever,' and I w- and I- I was bleeding out, I was <em>dying</em>, I--" He huffs out a tiny, <em>very</em> bitter laugh, hand sliding under his glasses and pressing against his eyes. Tommy tightens his hold around Gordon when he shudders.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Whatever you did say or didn't say doesn't matter. What you did after... you stayed with me, you dealt with my arm. I don't... I don't think I'd <em>be</em> here, if it wasn't for you. No, I definitely wouldn’t. You carried me halfway across that part of Black Mesa, dude. You can't tell m- you <em>honestly</em> don't think you've made up for it at this point?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> At those last words, Benrey lunges forward, fingers slotting into the suit's seams and head thrown over Gordon's shoulder as they pull him into their arms. Benrey shakes, ever so slightly, face soon shifting and sinking between Gordon's neck and shoulder. Tommy reaches around Gordon to pass a gentle hand up and down Benrey's arm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Holy</em> <em>shit," </em>Benrey whispers, tone reverential. "I don't deserve it. I don't." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Well, if it helps? I think you do," Gordon breathes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Silence again. Comfortable, even with something new running through it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until Benrey clearing their throat prompts him to open them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "So y- you... you remember. You're uh... how much? How much do you--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I remember you kissing me," Gordon interrupts, smiling to himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey pulls apart from him, eyes widening as they take in the softened expression he regards them with.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wuh- what? You... you're not- you're not mad?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I know I've given you shit, but it was never, like... genuine. I've never hated you. God, no one but you and Tommy has <em>ever</em> made me laugh so hard over just... the dumbest shit. All the time! And no one's ever made me feel this good, this- this optimistic, you know? No one's made me wanna keep going, even when it feels like <em>everything</em> in the fucking world has it out for me. I just- <em>heh!" </em>Gordon deflates, shoulders shaking in silent, defeated laughter, head falling downwards and knocking against Benrey's helmet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They both sit there that way, neither wanting to pull apart or speak up and risk ending whatever this moment is. No up or over, no around: the only way forward with this is through.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's right hand skirts around and up from where it lies over Gordon's back, trailing up slowly, cautiously, before coming to rest at his jaw, nearly shaking with how terrified they are that he'll push them away, tell them to leave, and-- </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon sighs, long and slow, so unspeakably happy in the fact that he can <em>actually</em> feel their hand. Relieved, Benrey's thumb brushes a tear from the corner of his eye, then angles Gordon's face down just enough to raise up and kiss his forehead. He hums, a single note song that fills Benrey's chest full and bids them continue. Another kiss, carefully laid on his cheek, and a half-laugh around an exhale as Gordon catches on to what they have in mind. Benrey only smiles at that, and continues leaving a trail of kisses down his face with another to his jaw. Then, one last concerned, disbelieving glance up, cast between Gordon's eyes and his mouth, lips parted enough for his breath to pass over Benrey's lips. They feel like this has to be a dream, and this is where the universe will pay them back, and Benrey will wake up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Is this... it's really... okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's really okay," Gordon murmurs, and they connect.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A fireworks show in the middle of summer, a massive bonfire, a hearth lit for the first time in winter, it's warm, warm, <em>warm</em>, and it's here, and it's real. They both want this, no room for either to wonder or doubt it now. Gordon's here, and he's <em>kissing back</em>, and he would probably stop if they started crying, so Benrey doesn't cry, lets their mind wade and soak in the feeling instead. The shaky hand trying not to shake that rests against their face, the rough lips against theirs, <em>Gordon's</em> lips against theirs, the way his hand moves to the nape of their neck, gently pulling their helmet away, and then returning to card fingers through their hair. Benrey lets themself indulge in the feelings that <em>aren't</em> there, too. The loathing, the deep-seated guilt- those are miles and miles away, no longer visible along the horizon. This feels like it will never end and also never last long enough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That's exactly how it goes as they part, and the two seek validity in each other's eyes before simultaneously needing Tommy's. Turning to him, Tommy is still wrapped tight around Gordon, glancing up and gazing between them both with soft eyes and skin so markedly rosy that Gordon can't keep himself away. A silent question in the look he gives, Tommy only lets his eyes drift shut as he leans forward in answer, and Gordon pulls him in. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It's incredible that no matter the actual number, it feels like their first kiss every time. As if his senses are kicked into overdrive, Gordon can feel every minute shift of his body as Tommy moves closer, as close as he can get, never being close enough, and Gordon mirrors the sentiment completely, hand travelling through Tommy's hair before his fingers gently grasp at what lies beneath his hand. Gordon fears he tastes like blood, tastes like grime and earth, but when Tommy only proceeds by angling in even deeper, Gordon finds he can't think of much of anything anymore. Just feelings, all of them magnificently good and making everything feel valuable beyond measure and worth it, <em>so</em> worth it, makes Gordon sure he'd do it all again if it means always winding up here. Between two people he cares for more than most of anything else on the globe, and who he in this moment doesn't feel wrong or guilty in assuming returns his feelings in full.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They separate, and when Tommy's eyes open, they fall right to Benrey. They've curled back up against Gordon, absentmindedly humming to themself, but as they both pull away, Benrey's head rises, and their eyes lock. A quiet question hangs in the air, an expectation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Don't want it to feel like we're just... goin' down a checklist," Benrey pauses when Tommy laughs. "But, uh... I'd really, <em>really</em> like to kiss you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There it is again- that straightforwardness that surprises Tommy to no end, but a good surprise to be sure. A <em>very</em> good surprise.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'd like that, too."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A quick smile flashes across Benrey's face as they stand and move over to Tommy before up and dropping themself in his lap. The sharp laughter Tommy gives at that surprises even him, a hand flying over his mouth when realizing how loud he was. Fortunately, it doesn't wake either of the men across the room. Tommy sighs before returning his attention to Benrey, who has <em>the</em> most shit-eating grin across their face. Gordon just shakes his head, followed by a laugh and a sigh Benrey can virtually hear the eyeroll in as Tommy snickers, hand still over his mouth and trying hard to keep the volume down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Laughter looks good on him, though there isn't much that doesn't, Benrey thinks. Small creases at the corners of his eyes where they’ve shut tight, a new shade of color across his face, dimples prevalent and indescribably charming, his shoulders jumping delightedly as the giggling refuses to let up. Benrey has an idea on how to stop it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    In a slow, fluid motion, they move Tommy's hand away from his mouth, and replace it with them, proceeding carefully, fully assuring he's comfortable. Brief surprise gives way to an avalanche of feeling, all taking over and colliding so fast that Tommy is left reeling, but he wouldn't want it any other way. He kisses back, hands moving up and holding their face, thumb running lightly back and forth over their cheek, just trying to free some of the infinite energy that runs rampant in any way he can. Much like how they communicate, Benrey's thoughts take shape in colors. Yellows, oranges, hues of the sunset above now taking residence behind their eyelids, in the vacancies of their ribcage, that same warmth they felt with Gordon carried over and growing. Everything Benrey has ever felt about Tommy, all those instances of admiration, of trust, of understanding, Benrey can barely keep themself from tearing up. They feel like they're sinking and floating all at once in the best way possible.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    This all feels so right, like everything that's happened, everything that's hurt, <em>this</em> makes up for it. <em>This</em> will be what gets them home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The three speak softly, about how their feelings for each other have been there longer than any of them care to admit, what kept them from doing something about it sooner. The conversation lulls, each again enjoying the silence that comes with it. Gordon's starting to doze, and Tommy’s humming a gentle tune he doesn't recognize, leaning down and laying a sleepy kiss to his forehead that makes Gordon sink further into where his head rests in Benrey's lap. Benrey sighs, so, so content, fingers still woven in Gordon's hair running through it once more before stilling, Tommy nudging and adjusting himself more comfortably against Benrey's shoulder, eyelids growing heavier.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tangled together on the floor of some storeroom in an untold part of Black Mesa, military presence likely crawling only yards away, none of them have ever felt more at peace. As Gordon drifts further and further towards sleep, he can't help but think that even if he did die here, it wouldn't so bad anymore. He is loved. That is more than enough. This is all he's felt he ever needed, ever wanted. Nothing else could compare. But if he does make it out? He can't wait to go home, to get to start his life new with the two of them. Finally falling asleep, Gordon distantly wonders if his bed would be big enough for the three of them. No, he's sure that they'll figure it out, they'll figure it all out, and they'll do it together, and it will be fine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It will be fine.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Listen- I know I'm missing a lot of moments in the series as a whole, but realistically? Gordon just would not be conscious throughout the majority of Act 3. Plus, I couldn't add in everything, you dig? So, I hope what I've got is OK!</p><p>Can you all tell how much I was looking forward to getting to this part solely based on how quickly I updated from last chapter and the word count? Hahah, I am... predictable.<br/>But here we go! Chapter 6, baby! Woo! I'm so stoked over the attention this has gotten, I'm honestly so surprised. This entire thing was so insanely self-indulgent, I wasn't sure anyone else would be able to get anything from it, but I'm so glad people have! </p><p>So, I'm moving! I'm not sure what that's gonna look like in terms of updates, but rest assured! I am not putting this down for good. Maybe for a week or two at most? But I'll still be writing whenever I can. Thanks for the comments and kudos! I get so stupid happy every time I get a notification for them in my inbox, so really, thank you so much.<br/>Bye for now!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Content warnings in roughly chronological order (Warnings may repeat at other points in the chapter): non-detailed mentions of death, non-detailed descriptions of injury, non-detailed mentions of blood, descriptions of pain, non-detailed emetophobia, mild descriptions of gun violence and related death, non-detailed breakdown, self-hating thoughts (Big time for this chapter. Steer clear entirely if this is a trigger for you!), detailed depiction of being unable to breath (Don't know what you'd call this specifically, asphyxiation maybe?), detailed depiction of sensory overload.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fair warning, I probably went... overboard with the waxing poetic shit I get into this chapter. If you find it insufferable... you're not wrong. This fic was entirely self-indulgent from the start, which is the only reason I'm leaving it as is, but seriously, if I overuse certain things, or you have other recommendations about what I'm doing right or wrong, I'd love to hear them!</p><p>It also might be completely incomprehensible at the end? My brain is working in a hundred different directions right now and none of them are helpful, so... yeah. If it's utter nonsense, lemme know and I'm sorry!</p><p>Just a heads up: I often go back and tweak previous chapters to correct mistakes and word choices, but sometimes I add in new sentences, so if that's something that's interesting to you, it may be worth going back and re-reading things just to see what's changed! Not that I'm saying you have to- this thing is nearing novel length! But I wanted to mention it since it might be a bit different than you remember and will likely see further changes in the future.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>    "Your hand's missing!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Darnold's eyes are wide, backlit with horror as he tries and fails to keep himself composed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon, no longer capable of standing on his own and needing both Tommy and Benrey to keep vertical, slowly redirects his attention to where his right arm lies over Benrey's shoulders. It sure is. Still not there. Still bloody and infected and <em>man,</em> Gordon doesn't remember anywhere else in Black Mesa being as colorful as this department is. Colors that are constantly changing as they shift and warp and bleed down the walls.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Enough people have told me that enough times--" Gordon slurs, cutting himself off when he suddenly pitches forward, Benrey and Tommy grasping him tighter to support the weight he no longer can.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy casts a despairing look Darnold's way. <em>Please help him. Something. Anything.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Darnold, fully sensing the urgency, nods in a stutter and quickly turns to a stack of documents pinned beneath a clipboard. Flipping through as he continues, he occasionally shoots glances between his notes and Gordon's hand. Darnold pauses with a start, scrutinizing the severed appendage closer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Is... is that some <em>green</em> in there I see?" he pales, returning to the clipboard and tearing through it much faster.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "That's probably the sewage... and the sepsis," Gordon pants, tone almost amused as he looks between the five of them. They're not laughing. Tommy continues staring straight ahead, hand trembling heavily where it holds onto Gordon's arm and teeth digging into their bottom lip so hard Gordon worries they'll draw blood. Benrey has their head turned down and away, eyes unseeing, looking intently at nothing. Gordon can feel them shaking, can feel Benrey straining their muscles against it as they try desperately not to. Further away, in what isn't obscured by his vision warping and distorting, he thinks he can see Bubby, scrutinizing the ground with a scowl he hasn't worn since before the Resonance Cascade. Coomer’s rubbing his shoulder and speaking to him softly, his eyebrows creasing deeper in worry when he looks at Gordon before he quickly has to avert his gaze.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon wants so badly to tell his partners that it'll all be fine, that it's okay, that he loves them. To say something to the two older men about how this'll work out, that it'll all be okay. To say much of anything, really. Say something about how his left side is now so entirely numb that he has to keep affirming it's still there, say something about how the muscle and tissue at the end of his right arm feels like it's been dipped in acid and the burning is only getting worse, or maybe say something about how the swimming, melting colors on the wall probably aren't really there and he should maybe be more worried about that, but none of that will work its way through Gordon's head and out of his mouth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "How long have you had that off?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I don't know," Gordon rasps instead. "How long has it been? A day? A day and three hours, give or take?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's teeth bare down on each other oppressively. Why are they all just standing here shooting the shit like there isn't a man actively <em>dying</em> in front of them? A day. It's been an entire <em>day.</em> An entire day filled with unimaginable pain across every hour, every second. An entire day of blood spill, internal and external, organs slowing, body fighting desperately to keep itself alive. <em>A day.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "I...</em> have been working on a top secret project," Darnold halts Benrey's thoughts. "A scientist can't live happily knowing that somebody's had their... hand off for a day and three hours. So, this is what I'm going to do."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Neither Tommy or Benrey hear what follows, laser focused on Gordon and the increasing weight settling between them as his body continues giving out. Both of them catch it when his head bobs down before abruptly shooting back up. Tommy's breath almost chokes them where it catches in their throat. Benrey adamantly refuses to look at Gordon, teeth grinding against each other so forcefully that they can all hear it. It's clear he's only being kept upright by either of the two at his sides, clear he's only barely conscious. For the second time, the first being when they met up in the sewers, Tommy finds themself fearing that if Gordon were to close his eyes now, he wouldn't open them again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm going to give you some, because it has... secret regenerative properties, <em>unknown</em> to man," Darnold continues, taking a large barrel into his arms.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You tellin' me I gotta-" Gordon speaks, voice dripping with delirium. "Is that <em>full?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Trust him, Mr. Freeman. He made the Powerade earlier," Tommy interrupts, smiling as convincingly as they can manage. <em>Please go along with it. Please, please, let this work.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Powerade was pretty good," Gordon mumbles, head dipping forward before he picks it back up again. <em>Please let this work</em>, the Science Team silently pleads.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Fuck it, man! I'm gonna-" Gordon cuts himself off and bends at the waist in front of the barrel. He gulps down a massive swig, then a second, and in the middle of taking a third, he screams. A loud, suffering sound that sends ache shooting up and down Benrey's spine. Tommy bites down hard on the inside of their cheek, blood rushing through their mouth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon stumbles so forcefully he falls from their arms. Both are beside him on the floor in a millisecond.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I-it's okay, you'll be all good, it's- it's--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon, wh- what's happening? Gordon?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His heartbeat is so overwhelmingly loud in his ears, it drowns out their voices entirely. Any words he's speaking, if he's speaking any at all, must be complete nonsense. Gordon swears he can feel everything burning bright, burning him away. Every organ, every system, working harder, faster, making up for lost time. What blood remains in his veins grows to feel intensely hot, he can <em>feel</em> it moving, <em>scorching</em> his veins as it travels. His body is a forest fire, destroying itself, razing itself to the ground so it can grow back stronger.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy is frantic, failing spectacularly in keeping themself together. They know they're on the edge of a panic attack, but they can't focus on breathing or grounding now, Gordon <em>needs</em> them, why are <em>they</em> the one freaking out? Tommy has to--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "He'll be alright," Darnold speaks softly, words just barely arriving to Tommy through the anxiety. His hand rests on their shoulder. "It restores each system of the body, so to speak. Cleans out all the junk and fixes everything up like new. It's... a lot, but he'll pull through. I promise."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy can't look him in the eye, knows they'll start crying if they do, so they only nod, free hand patting over Darnold's gratefully, as they breathe in... and out. In... and they're grounded again, if only enough to see Gordon through this.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He's passed the initial stage of just screaming, of gripping his stomach so tight that they're all thankful for the suit separating his hand from where his nails would've cut and dug into himself. He's only groaning now, rocking back and forth from where he's fallen on his side, mumbling and sweating profusely.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey and Tommy watch on amazed as the wounds that litter Gordon's face heal themselves at rapid rates, not quite disappearing, but coming well close to it. The color of the bruises sink back into the skin and fall away, now a light yellow-green, some hardly visible anymore, and the cuts have thoroughly scabbed over, the smallest of which are now reduced to tiny, faded scars.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Mr. Freeman-- Gordon?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He bolts upright, but caves and collapses right back down, pain in his stomach yet to subside. Gordon suddenly buries his face in his inner elbow to cough violently. All in the room want to offer their support, comfort, <em>something</em>, but any other words on their tongues die as they all stare on at what's become of his right arm. Gordon's sputtering grows frenzied as he crawls forward, Benrey's steadying hand on his chest falling away as they too can do nothing but watch.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon gets to his feet, staggering heavily before being able to keep balance on his own, a feat he hasn't managed in well over a day. As soon as the black spots encroaching his vision subside, he turns to his arm. He really doesn't know what he expected. For it to be healed over miraculously? Some weird alien bullshit he'll never be able to wrap his head around? Hell, maybe he would just up and grow a new one? What Gordon never anticipated is what looks like five dark cylinders standing tall in a tight array.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    "</em>
    <b>
      <em>Huh</em>
    </b>
    <em>?"</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The ensuing confusion and panic Gordon throws Darnold's way in rapid-fire, stream of consciousness speech has been tuned out by the Science Team in favor of watching him move and speak, the motions and tone and words so remarkably vibrant, dynamic, captivating. <em>Alive.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I-isn't that what your hand looked like before?" Darnold offers nervously.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No, I had- it looked li-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His protests are cut off instantly, air squeezed from his lungs when Benrey launches forward and clings to his waist. Tommy's right behind them, practically tackling Gordon as their arms fly around him. Forgetting both their size and strength, Tommy's hug drops all three of them to the ground. When sure no one’s hurt, they all immediately burst into laughter. The kind that goes on for far too long and makes their sides burn fiercely and leaves each of them breathless, the immense joy in laughter alone leaving them feeling never better, never happier just to be alive knowing that moments like this can come and would come again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They've each experienced this before, but something different runs through it now. Some new, untold closeness they share in having Gordon be so close to leaving them. Death's fingers looming above, eager to snap his mortal stem and pluck him from the world of the living. Cloying taste of underworld fruit on his lips when they kissed him. Some new, untold closeness in how Tommy and Benrey couldn't accept what appeared to be fate's clear design. <em>Wouldn't</em> accept it. Would sooner rend the great loom into irreparable wooden splinters. They would spin the thread by hand. Every time they carried, tended to, comforted, loved him, they twisted the spindle. They would continue it for Gordon all the way home, and know that if it were the other way around, he would undoubtedly do the same for them.</p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p>    So it turns out the cylinders that make up Gordon's new right hand are the barrels of a sort of minigun. Alright. Weirder things have happened.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He thinks he's getting the hang of it, becoming acquainted with the kickback, where to position his other hand over it to steady his aim, counting out how long he can fire before the end connected to flesh grows too hot to bear... he's trying not to think about it in detail. That's for future Gordon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Voices echo from down the hall and close in the moment Darnold gets the door open.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Alright, lemme test this fingernail shit out!" Gordon exclaims, jumping in front of the Team before any of them can get a word out edgewise. The barrels of the gun spin up blindingly as he fires, flare of the bullets leaving the chambers throwing striking light against the walls as he whoops and hollers excitedly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon manages to drop two of the three marines before his ears abruptly ring, deafening and devastating. His vision blurs and warps immediately following and his knees buckle, glasses dropping from his face and skittering across the concrete as he falls alongside them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    No, no, no. They- they fixed it, didn't they? This shouldn't be happening, this shouldn't be happening, this--</em> Tommy lodges a bullet in the skull of the third before rushing to Gordon's side, strings of questions flying so fast past their lips that the words bleed into each other almost incomprehensibly. From where Benrey stands behind Darnold, their hand springs out and grasps his sleeve, barely holding back force that would rip the fabric. Darnold jumps at the contact, taking in their expression for only a second.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They look simultaneously terrified, furious, and like they feel nothing at all. It forms a pit in Darnold’s stomach.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "There are... going to be side effects. This has, well... this has been closely guarded for a long time, and we haven't been able to test this thoroughly and work out all th--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's grip tightens.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "But he should be okay! What we have observed has never been outright fatal. Headaches, nausea, vision and hearing changes... it's- it's all fairly standard. You have my word."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey gives no answer, no indication they even heard him at all besides a brief flick of their eyes to Darnold's, breaking it to move and stand at Tommy and Gordon's side. Darnold holds back a relieved sigh.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What- what happened?" Gordon's coming back around, head in his hand as he squints against the oppressive fluorescent lights, pulse pounding against his forehead. His heartbeat is overloud, banging, rattling against the inside of his skull. A massive storm on a metal roof. Minigun fire echoing off concrete walls. The Resonance Cascade sparking currents of electricity that slice past steel and glass and tissue and bone- Gordon swallows hard. <em>Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think--</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I- I can't see anything. What's going on?" Questions spill faster than bullets fly from his new arm. His flesh hand shoots out, swiping through the air wildly. Gordon feels like he's submerged, pulling in air like he's downing cough syrup, slow and horrible as it drips down his throat sickeningly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You're al- uh- o- okay right now. The soldiers are dead... we're all right here," Tommy reassures softly, picking up Gordon's glasses and gently slotting them in his hands.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon pushes his glasses back up and tries to take steady breaths in and out before realizing that that's not going to cut it. He swipes his hand through air in a desperate motion for Tommy to get back before turning away and emptying his stomach. They kneel behind him, keeping some distance, but still close enough for Gordon to hear them speaking comforts as they hold his hair back. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    When he finishes, Gordon wills his breathing to steady itself, vision still fading back in far too slowly for him to relax, remembering desperately <em>not</em> to clench on his right side. <em>What if he fired before he could even realize it? What if he shot one of them that way? What if he </em><b><em>killed </em></b><em>one of them that way?</em> Gordon gasps before biting his tongue, nausea returning and passing over him like a steamroller as he holds his right arm in a vice grip. <em>Nope! No, no, no, no, no, can't be thinking like that! For future Gordon!</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon?" Benrey hears him gasp, lowering themself to their knees and taking care to move slowly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He can't look at them. He's too afraid of falling apart, of bursting into tears for the hundredth time that week. Too afraid of showing hurt that'll make either of them ignore theirs. Too afraid of admitting to them as well as himself that his new arm kind of <em>scares the shit</em> out of him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Can you- can you help me stand?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey nods mutely, hand held out to Gordon who, rather than simply placing his hand in theirs, opts to lace their fingers together. Even over the small rush of color to their face, Benrey doesn't miss the way his hand trembles when they pull him onto his feet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon, you--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "This is too much, Dr. Freeman! I can't handle it!" Darnold erupts. His hands shake heavily where they sit in a white-knuckled grip on his gun, and even avoiding looking at the bodies in the now very, very bloody hallway, he looks incredibly queasy. <em>Hey, two's company,</em> Gordon thinks, before the harshness behind it makes him feel guilty. Not trusting mild anger to keep from seeping into his tone, Gordon only nods, hoping it's in a way that conveys at least an ounce of sympathy, remorse, understanding, but Darnold's clearly incredibly shaken and seems to miss it entirely.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm afraid I have to..." A single, millisecond-long glance down the hall. "...cut all ties with you here."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "That... sucks, but... okay," Gordon nods in the direction they came, wondering if the Team cleared enough of a path to find a safe way out. For the sake of a man who hasn't been through what they had, who has a chance to get out not unscathed, but something close to it? Gordon wishes him an uneventful trip.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Darnold gives one last unsure smile behind him, eyes lingering longer on Benrey and Gordon, and he heads up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    After the lift's out of sight, they all give pause as a rare, strange silence falls over the room. As anyone could've anticipated, Bubby is the one to break it. He clears the space between himself and Gordon before pausing, looking between his face and his right arm, seeming to be lost in thought. Bubby breaks the internal debate when he claps a hand down on Gordon's shoulder and graces him with a warm grin.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm glad you're with us."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon feels his chest lighten, expecting this less than the gun arm, but before he can try to work out a reply, Bubby must have decided that that wasn't enough, and he yanks Gordon into his arms. He holds him close, disregarding the sharp angles of the HEV suit, a hand passing up and down Gordon's back even knowing he can't feel it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm <em>damned</em> glad you're here, Gordon."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon is completely taken aback, but it's a good thing. He returns the hug with shaky arms, so thrown from his thoughts that he's unaware he's begun tearing up until he hears himself sniffle.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "See? This is why I never do this!" Bubby tsks, voice devolving into a chuckle.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon half-laughs back, briefly burying his face in the other man's shoulder before they both pull away. He turns and stands at the room's opening, surveying each of his friends and their expressions. Each of their faces speak of relief, happiness, determination. Gordon's on the same page completely.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Alright, let's go knock some soldiers' lights out, okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The four match his enthusiasm right away and follow suit. Follow Gordon. They always will.</p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p>    "Woo! Yeah, fuck it, leave the world as it is! Oh no. No, <em>no,</em> <em>d--"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The Team's joyride comes to a screeching halt when Bubby can't hit the brakes or slow in time to stop from crashing the Cadillac headfirst into a security gate.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon launches forward, thankfully stopped by the seatbelt he'd remembered to put on as soon as he sat down. He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck and being positive he heard something pop. Another fun item to add to his ever-growing collection of injury. He thinks of the hospital bill waiting for him after all of this and groans again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Damn, you okay? Here," Benrey tugs at his left arm carefully, helping him stand after Tommy leans over the door to unfasten his belt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah. Yeah, just- just whiplash, maybe."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We- we, umm... should still have about... half a bottle of painkillers, maybe?" Tommy frowns, eyebrows furrowing as they focus on sifting through their bag.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Nah, don't worry about it, it'll be f-" Gordon stops mid-sentence after hearing something from the car's direction pop, fall away, then something that sounds like...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    The crackle of fire.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "Fuck!</em> Benrey, Tommy!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon simultaneously pulls them against his chest and pushes them forward to run. They make it four sprinted steps away before the car explodes into a mass of flame and metal wreckage, shrieking parts, a horrible smell of burning gasoline and faux leather and human hair. The shockwave knocks the three down hard, skidding them far from the blast and showering them in glass and flaming metallic bits and pieces. Gordon hears a <em>crack </em>alongside a familiar crawl of sharp pain across his chest. <em>Well, fuck.</em> He bats out flames licking up at the ends of his hair as Bubby and Coomer close the distance between them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gh- Gordon..." Tommy wheezes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Holy <em>shit.</em> You okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Am- Am <em>I</em> okay? How would y- Why did you <em>do</em> that?" Tommy shoves Gordon off them, eyes alight with anger. “Why would you phh- put us before you like that?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You <em>know</em> Benrey and I would've been okay! You've <em>seen</em> us be okay!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It- you still feel it, though. I just d- I don't want you to- to hurt--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We don't- we don't- we don't get hurt like you do! You <em>know</em> that! Even if it hurts, it won't <em>kill us,</em> Gordon! It- it-!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey sits up, pulling Tommy against their chest when their words trail off and they just shake and scream into their hands. The look Benrey casts Gordon next hurts just as bad as the agonized sounds that come from Tommy. <em>Bewilderment. Ache. Revulsion.</em> It makes Gordon want to shrink away and disappear. Fall beneath the floor into nothing like Benrey can. Hot tears well up and sting at the corner of his eyes, and when he blinks them away and inhales slow to keep them away, he realizes he can't. He- he <em>can't. </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Gordon can't breathe in.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tom- <em>Tommy?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "Not.</em> Right now, Gordon," they choke out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benr- <em>Bh-</em> Bubby--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon," Bubby answers flatly. He refuses to look over his shoulder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I d- It's- I think--" Gordon wheezes, ending in a gasp.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon?" Coomer, the only one still facing him, steps closer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Can't- can't... breathe. Ch- chest--" Gordon pats a clumsy hand over his throat and chest, tries to pull in as much air as he can, but against where his broken rib has driven itself in deeper, deep where it isn't supposed to be, it's next to nothing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His next gasp <em>isn't</em> one. It's a long, drawn-out choke, throat clinging to and sputtering on nothing as Gordon scratches bright red lines down his neck, pulse jackhammering, drilling waves of heat into his face and mouth opening wide in a soundless scream.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Hands and voices are all around him in a second, ones he thinks he can recognize and ones he can't, as a sinkhole opens in his chest and pulls everything into it. Too much feeling. Too much of everything. Hands on his face, on his arms, running through his hair. He shuts his eyes so it's one less sense he has to experience, the others overworked and turned painful. He writhes, feels everything all at once and feels more than he ever has before. He feels every single rib of the HEV joints, feels every time the undersuit shifts against his skin when he inhales with no intake, feels lips on his trying to breathe air back into his lungs where he can't, feels his hair like minuscule snakes, twisting and slithering and sticking to his face. He wants to ask not to be touched, wants to ask why he can't breathe, wants to say sorry, sorry, <em>sorry,</em> but the act of speech comes at a price he can't afford. His chest isn't the only thing that falls away. Sound, light, feeling- all that quickly became overwhelming is now disappearing entirely. He's not sure what's worse: feeling everything, or feeling nothing. He doesn't have to debate on it long before it all falls completely still.</p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p>    Dreaming isn't something he does often, and when he has over the last week, it wasn't pleasant. This time, though... Gordon dreams of something soft beneath his hands that keeps changing. First, it's one of the throw blankets on his couch, one he's had since his third year of college that he always takes the best care of so it stays soft. Second, it's his weighted blanket back home, the edges of the plaid-patterned cover he keeps it in frayed from constant use, but still comfortable and comforting. Last, it's what he imagined Sunkist's fur feels like from how Tommy described it to him one night when he couldn't sleep. <em>Like fine cotton, but it's, well, it's fur! And- and warm, too! Warm like when sunlight soaks into a, uh- a hardwood floor.</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Warm... really warm... too warm? <em>Too warm.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wake up. You're alright. Wake up, Gordon."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Bubby?" Gordon rasps, wincing at the sound of his own voice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "God, but are you red. Hold on, and don't move."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon hears him step away, opening his eyes to find himself sitting on the floor of a small room littered with rubble, lit only by a terminal that casts soft blue light against the walls. Bubby tears off the end of his lab coat's sleeve, searching through their bags for water and dousing the scrap with it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's not cold, but it should be for you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "How... how long is it- have I been--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Just under two hours- Gordon, no, you idiot!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon throws himself onto his feet, fragmented rib spading back into his lung and sending him crashing to the floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I h-have t- I have to find them. Tell them!" Gordon shivers and shuts his eyes tight. "I fff- fucked up. Hurt them by trying to keep them safe! How do you- how- how does anyone fuck up so bad?" The laugh that follows is humorless. "That's all I've done. Maybe that's all I can do! Is just fuck up! Fuck up by taking this job. Fuck up the- the test. Fuck up by killing all those... people. Fuck up the only relationship I've had in years. Hah!" Gordon wraps his arms around himself and squeezes, despite or maybe <em>because</em> of the way it cuts in and burns.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>  "I <em>deserve</em> this. I deserved to lose my arm, didn't I? For everything I didn't- couldn't do. It makes sense to me now! Why none of you stopped it!" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Bubby flinches.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I d-deserved--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Something clatters to the ground, followed by someone swearing under their breath. Looking up, Gordon sees that it had been Tommy, now crouching down and putting the contents of a spilled first aid kit back in its plastic shell. Benrey stands directly behind them, looking down at him with a strange mix of unreadable feelings.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You wh- You weren't supposed to hear that," Gordon speaks around a cough. "You didn't need me feeling... sorry for myself! You needed an- an <em>actual</em> fucking apology. One of the only things I could think about before was how I wanted to say s-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "D' you- did you mean it? When you said you deserved to have your arm cut off?" Benrey's voice is low.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What- huh? I... I didn't want you to hear- I wanted to ap-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tell me first. Did you mean it?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I--" Gordon takes in a deep breath before being reminded of why he shouldn't. <em>"Hh!</em> Ow, ow, ow, ow, fuck... yeah. Yeah, I- I guess I did."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy skids the kit aside and rushes to kneel in front of Gordon, grasping his hand tightly in theirs and holding his eyes with a piercing, purposeful gaze that feels like it locks Gordon in place.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You haven't... 'fucked up' with us for a second. I was mad because I was <em>scared.</em> I thought- I thought it was going to be so much worse, and you always... you always put everybody before you. I wanted to th- I always thought it was because you're just selfless. And you are! But..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "...it's also because you don't think you deserve the good shit. Think everyone else does, but not you," Benrey finishes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The room falls quiet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Bubby crosses the space and bends at the waist before Gordon to lie the cloth against his forehead. Gordon shuts his eyes at the relief, slumping further down the wall with a sigh as he vaguely hears himself mumbling gratitude, though it's quiet to where he can't be sure of the exact words. Bubby stands, stretches, and turns for the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "The airstrikes have been arriving in waves. We've got just under an hour before they'll hit this place again. It's held up so far, but... I don't know what would happen after a second round."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He pauses, eyes flitting down to his feet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Everyone fucks up. We all have. I have. I absolutely have. I... I never, <em>never </em>expected them to do <em>that.</em> I was fucking <em>panicking,</em> Gordon, I-" Bubby sighs. "I wish I would have stopped it. I do."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I d- I didn't mean it. What I said. They would've killed you, man. I'm so lucky none of you stepped between them and me. I don't..." A chill rushes down Gordon's spine at the thought. "I don't want to think about what they would've done. To any of you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Well... whatever could have happened? I just wish I would have tried."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    With that, Bubby's gone, and silence takes his place. They all sit quietly, each thinking on what he said, thinking of the same thing in very different ways.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Before we hear what you wanted to say," Tommy intones softly. "Can I hug you?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's breath hitches. He doesn't feel like he deserves the affection, not for a second, but man, does he crave every instance of it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I-if y- just go slow. Please."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy smiles, moving to his left and carefully positioning their arms around his shoulders. Then, like he's <em>worth</em> the extended effort, they lower themself against him. From where his head now rests against Tommy's chest, Gordon can hear their heartbeat as it drums to a steady, soothing rhythm. He can feel his eyelids grow that little bit heavier before Benrey clears their throat, now sitting on his right without him having seen them move at all. They just stare at the empty space between them, continually running a finger up and down one of the minigun's barrels.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You, guh- uh... you gonna tell us your thing? Gonna..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Y- yeah! Yeah. So, I'm not- I don't regret stopping you both from being hurt. I'd do that every time. But I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did it at the expense of... you know."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They know.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "God, I- I didn't even think about it. Like- i-it was like my body moved by itself, and I just- I didn't think of anything else but the two of you, and how... how I didn't want to see you hurt. Would- I'd do anything, if it meant you got outta this with one less thing to replay in your head later on. I don't know, about either of you? But I think about 'em all the time. Every bullet, every..." Gordon's voice goes quiet and trails off before the volume returns and the tone upticks in bitter amusement. "And to think! You'd just dragged my sorry ass halfway across Black Mesa, and then I go and get myself killed in a car explosion!" His laughter falls into coughs that make Tommy's grip on him tighten and Benrey's nails plunge into the concrete. "Real solid way of thanking you," he wheezes after his hacking lets up. "Real- real great job on Gordon. Payin' you back."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy parts from Gordon and just... stares.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We- do you think we'd just be upset at the <em>wasted time?"</em> Benrey seethes. "What- what isn't clicking for you? Think you're just a lil' side project for us? Gonna fix you up like an old car and ship you out once we're done? Gonna try and- and pawn you off on someone else once we get bored? Is <em>that</em> what I'm getting right now?" Their pitch rises and makes Gordon flinch.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Y'know what? Maybe I do! Is- is- is- is- maybe that is <em>exactly</em> what I think!" His voice rises to a yell without him intending for it to. "Because maybe! Maybe I don't see any other reason for you to be around me! Maybe I think you're both mak- making a big fucking mistake!" His vocal chords already grated and stretched thin, the new exertion sends another round of coughs through Gordon's wrecked lungs, each further driving a stake into his brain, headache vehemently solidifying its place. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Nn, <em>fuck! </em>I just- I can't <em>understand!</em> I don't know why'd you- why you'd stick around! <em>Any</em> of you! I'm dead fucking weight, man! I've only ever slowed us down. I didn't stop any of it. The Resonance Cascade, all those people dying... I can't do anything for anyone. Not even me! You've all had to drag me around, fix every fuck-up! I can't..." Gordon slides completely down the wall, laying on the floor as the heel of his hand pushes his glasses aside to press hard against his eyes. "I can't keep being so fucking <em>useless</em>. You all should just leave me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The silence is incredibly loud. A minute has never been stretched so thin.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Right as Gordon's about to plead with either of them to say something, Benrey's urging him to sit back up and holding his face in their hands. Their eyes dart between each of his, taking them in separately, searching for something Gordon doesn't know how to give.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I-- I'm not one to talk. About not feeling worth it. I don't, nh... I don't got it figured out. There's nothin' I can do or say that'll make this just... get better. It's time, bro. Time and work. You gotta want it, too. Want to think different, want things to be better. But what I <em>can</em> do..." a small, devilish grin flickers across Benrey's face as they lean in close. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Is try," they kiss his right cheek.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "And show you," his left. </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "Exactly</em> how I feel." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's breath puffs across his lips before they pull him into a bruising kiss, and Gordon melts. He hasn't flown too close, he's flown <em>into</em> the sun. Where he and Icarus differ is that he is not fated to drown in the cold, abyssal expanses of the ocean. What he has sunken into instead is the star, and it scorches and blisters and burns. He never wants to be anywhere else.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey pulls away, and Gordon can't stop himself from whining at the separation. Benrey cackles.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hey, don't start. Your, uh, breather parts need to take it easy. Take it slow, you don't gotta worry. Plenty more where that came from."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Their laughter starts up all over again when Gordon's redness grows several shades deeper in an instant. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Plenty more because I-" They suddenly hesitate, eyebrows furrowing. They shake their head. "Plenty more because I <em>care about you.</em> Carried you through- through Black Mesa 'cause I care about you. Patch you up, let you take things slow as you need to, say calm down things when you need 'em because I care about you. The caring part doesn't come from a place where I'm hoping I get something back for it. I don't look at it for what you give, Gordon. <em>You're</em> what I get. <em>You're</em> what I want, just you, not any of the fuckiiiin'... what ifs or maybes about what you <em>could</em> give me. Your answer? For all the things you don't get? It's 'cause we love you. I do. Tommy does. Coomer. Bubby. It never feels like too much. Not for you. I don't wanna hear you keep doubting it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I... I don't--" Gordon's speechless, eyes wide as he stares at his hands.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What if- what if it was me, Gordon?" Tommy interjects. "If I lost an arm. What if it was me? Would you be up- upset, helping me afterward? Taking care of me? Or if I was the one in the chamber... i-if-- if it was me in there when the Cascade happened. Would you blame me? Would you tell me who— would you tell me it's my fault for everyone who died after? You wouldn't, and I know you wouldn't. Maybe you can’t see it right now, but that doesn’t mean this is how it’ll al- always be. That’s how we feel about you! I'd tell you that every day if it meant you started believing it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "C-come on," Gordon sniffles. "I've cried enough this week, guys. I can't--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You can, 's okay. Not gonna judge."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon laughs, but it's tight and quiet. "I've d- I don't know what I did to deserve you two."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You didn't do anything. You didn't need to," Tommy murmurs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The dam breaks. Gordon sobs, and they hold him, and at some point, they're both crying, too, and Gordon still doesn't think he deserves them, may not think so for a long, long time, but he knows they do, and that is enough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Healing isn't linear. Gordon is fully aware. But when his cries die down, and his swollen, tired eyes meet Tommy's, and they're pulling each other into a kiss, he feels the beginning of change. Feels himself come out of his bleak, arid third of the year as it melts into the warmth of returning spring, the sour taste of pomegranate seeds turn sweet and satisfying. They take root, blossom, grow and overtake him, trunks winding and twisting up his chest, through his ribs, red-orange blooms sprouting from his fingertips.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Even when he's being helped back onto his feet, needing to go slow, needing to take a couple of tries before he can move on his own, Gordon doesn't get hung up on it all this time around. He's helped, but not because they see him as small, as helpless, because they feel like they're obligated to. He's helped because he's loved, just as how he helps because he loves. Gordon is a simple machine, parts and patterns predictable, but reliable. He is propelled by love in all its forms, heart big enough for the world to reside in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As they grow nearer to the Lambda complex, Benrey and Tommy believe that the world will, even if unknowingly, be saved by residing in Gordon Freeman, just as he resides in it. He'll never consider himself a hero, they know that. But to them? He doesn't need to be. He is already enough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon is loved.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The car explosion and Gordon's subsequent injury happening right after he JUST recovered from the arm thing may have been an annoying choice I made for some folks, but like... I can't get over it! There's no way he'd be that close to the blast and just... walk away from it. I rewrote that scene three separate times before stopping on the fourth attempt. Trust me when I say worse could have happened to the man!</p><p>Comments are always very appreciated! Thank you to the ones I've gotten so far. They've all been incredibly encouraging. Nothing but good things! They're what I look forward to every time I post. It means a lot to me that people are taking the time to tell me what they think! </p><p>I'm so sorry for the delay in updating. There has been so much going on, it's unreal. I hope this chapter turned out okay! It gave me a hell of a lot of trouble. When it comes to any other part that isn't one I'm looking forward to from the start, it's always tricky. I'm sorry for that! I'll try to get better.<br/>This whole thing is so outrageously long, I'm amazed folks are actually reading it. Gonna reach novel length at this point! I have a problem.<br/>Thank you so much for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Content warnings in rough chronological order (Some may repeat at other points in the chapter): semi-descriptive gun violence and related (alien) death, brief mention of a panic attack, semi-descriptive electrocution, non-detailed mention of vivisection, semi-detailed breakdown, descriptions of injury (bruising), descriptive intrusive thoughts, detailed panic attack.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>    "We should turn around."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What?" Gordon's following question drops off as an alien rushes him, knocking him into the pit of coolant at the room's center. He blindly swipes around, feeling for a wall while swimming to the surface. Much harder to do when having a minigun for a right arm and the weight of it hellbent on keeping him down, but Gordon manages it. In between his gasps and coughs, Benrey speaks up again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Too much resistance. Too much resistance."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Another teleports in, directly in front of them. Instantly taking a protective stance in front of Benrey, the barrels of Gordon's arm spin up and shower bullets into the alien until it drops.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What do you mean too much resis- fuck!" Another alien warps in almost directly on top of them. It gets in one good slash across Gordon's chest before the minigun takes it out, entry holes still smoking from the crumpled heap it falls into. The suit's chest plate has been caved in, sharp angles pressing down to where Gordon can feel it even through the layers. <em>Well, that's gonna leave one hell of a bruise.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They're all panting, all coming down from the adrenaline high. As soon as they notice it, Tommy's inquiring about Gordon's suit, about if he's hurt, if they need to stop for a break, when Benrey mutters something that makes them all fall silent.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Let's go back home."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon is completely taken aback. What are they on about? First, they vanish for hours and refuse to explain where they were, then they keep quiet almost the entire way here, and now they're asking to go home? Like that's not the <em>only thing</em> they've been trying to do for the last week now?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Let's go back home?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "That's what we're trying to do, man." Gordon can't help the exasperation that slips into his tone. "That's th- that's the end goal here--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No, we're going further into... hell."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon whips around to face them. They won't look him in the eye, face turned down and obscured by the rim of their helmet. What is going on? Why are they being so obtuse? Why won't they look at him?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Y- apparently, this is something we have to do! There's no other exit," he reminds them, putting a hand on Benrey's shoulder, a silent question, hoping that they'll finally look at him, that they'll explain where this is coming from. Gordon doesn't receive that. Benrey instead slides his hand off their shoulder, still looking down as they push past and jump into the coolant pit. Gordon feels like he's swallowed rocks, stomach unbelievably heavy as he watches them leave. </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    The second,</em> Gordon tells himself. <em>The second we get a chance to stop, I'm making them tell me exactly what's wrong. They won't be in this by themself.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The five swim single-file until reaching the reactor, and if the alien presence didn't confirm the suspicion that it's taken damage, then the arcs of electricity that spark from the new gashes in the metal housing does.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Look out for the fucking lasers!" Gordon shrills, almost tackling Tommy as he grabs their waist and drags them both to the side, narrowly avoiding a bolt that strikes and scrapes across the wall directly behind them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "These lasers are... okay," Tommy reassures, trying to ease his fear as they make their way up. They know it's bullshit, <em>nothing</em> about this is okay, but Gordon's sounded like he's been on the verge of a panic attack for the last half an hour. Not that there's ever a good time to have one, but now certainly isn't it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Ugh... how are they okay? They don't feel--" Gordon's words break off into trembling, jittering sounds. Tommy looks down to him, and <em>no, no, fuck-</em> he's been hit. The sudden tensing of his muscles launches him forwards, throwing him against the wall as his violent twitching makes Tommy's insides tie themselves in a Gordian knot. The blaze of yellow finally, mercifully moves off of him, and Gordon stumbles before going completely boneless and collapsing. <em>Shit.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy stares at the empty space in front of him, envisions themself being there. Then, they are. They quickly gather Gordon in their arms and teleport right back before anyone even notices they've done it. Tommy finds an area of catwalk not occupied by electricity and props him against the wall.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon? Gordon, we h- we have to move. Please- we have to go," Tommy urges, hand patting his cheek repeatedly until he jumps awake. Gordon contorts, hand clutching his chest as he groans.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Mn- fuck!" He wheezes, blinking away tears. "Fuck this entirely!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy snorts, relieved he's conscious and coherent, helps him up, and carefully sees him up the rest of the way.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "This room is broken," Benrey adds unhelpfully.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Tommy and Gordon turn to find them sitting atop a crate and kicking their legs back and forth slowly, staring down at the reactor passively.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy shoots them a <em>look</em>. Benrey looks back. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Their stare seems... vacant, the black color of their eyes somehow seeming even deeper. It makes Tommy deathly worried. They've only seen them get this way once before. When Benrey was vivisected. When they learned that the scientists tasked with studying them were going through with it, Tommy was furious. They stormed down to where Benrey was held, but the damage had already been done. Benrey was all but catatonic when Tommy found them in their cell, unmoving for weeks afterward, bunched up in a corner, refusing to speak, eat, do anything but stare at the floor. <em>That</em> is the stare Tommy's seeing now, and it scares the hell out of them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey?" Tommy speaks gently, moving to stand in front of them and extending a careful hand out to rest on their shoulder. Benrey jumps out of their skin despite how slowly Tommy moves. Their anxiety blooms at the sight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wh- what's going on with you? You won't- you were gone for hours, you've barely said a thing, you won't look at us... Something's not right, Benrey. Please, I- I don't-- I w- I want to know what's happening. If we can help it--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Can't," Benrey gasps, shuddering and pulling their arms around themself. "Sorry. Sorry, I'm... I'm sorry. Sorry..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey..." Tommy murmurs. What is going <em>on</em> with them? They've never seen them like this before. Did something happen in the time they were apart earlier? Why are they apologizing?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey," Gordon interjects, voice soft but stern. "Something's really fucking with you. Seeing you like this... there has to be something we can do. You've done so much for me, man. I'd do anything I could to give that back to you. You don't have to sort through this shit by yourself."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He crouches in front of the crate. They jump again. Gordon draws back and waits.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You okay being touched?" he asks after a while. Benrey nods.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He makes eye contact, makes sure they see every motion of his arms as they pull Benrey by their shoulders into his embrace, and they split at the seams. Gordon can feel how heavily they're shaking, can hear the quick inhales closer to gasps as they force back sobs, can see their head shift as they bury their face into his shoulder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You don't have to tell us now," Gordon murmurs beside their ear. "I-- I don't know what things were- what life was like for you before. But you've got Tommy. You've got me. We're worried. We want you to be okay. Anything we can do, you just have to let us know. Even if the only- even if all we can do is listen."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey swallows. It doesn't keep the tears away as they somehow sink further against him. The room is hushed save for their short, gasping breaths and hiccups. No one says a word. They don't need to. Benrey knows the four of them share the same sentiment. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    What a strange, wonderful feeling to have. People who care about you.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh, this might be the point of no return," Gordon sighs. From where he's heading the Team, he turns back to face them. They all look as nervous as he feels, all seeming to be turning over the scientist's words in their head, the reality of what they have to do fully beginning to sink in. He tries to give them a reassuring smile, but he knows it's not convincing. They all return it. Equally as unsure.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Alright, well-- damn, look at that reactor. Hold on, lemme go check that out."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Doctor Freeman."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That same strange feeling from before washes over Gordon in droves as an unfortunately familiar shade of blue drapes itself over the hall.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh, no, not this again," he rasps. "Come o- come out, man."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon sighs as that same rhythmic set of steps nears, and the man in the suit steps into view. He straightens his tie and fixes Gordon with a look he can't read. He's not sure if he would want to.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What d' you- what now?" His voice contains the exact amount of exhausted vitriol he hoped to get across, conveying he's fed up to the point where fear hardly registers. He feels like shit, he's learned not even five minutes ago that he's going to have to teleport to an alien homeworld and kill what equates to a space god, and now this smug fuck has the audacity to show up just to spout more inane, cryptic bullshit. Gordon wants to go home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Doctor Freeman, it's good to see you in such... <em>good...</em> spirits." Again, the man takes the time to scrutinize each of his friends separately. Gordon absolutely despises how he looks at them. The way someone looks at chess pieces when deciding what move to make next. It makes him nauseous. With these thoughts, Gordon subconsciously makes himself bigger, tries to make a wall of his body between the man and his friends, left hand grasping over his minigun like how he does to steady his aim when firing and waging internal debate about whether or not to take aim. The other man only gives a single, short laugh when he notices the motion. An unpleasant sound. Gordon bristles.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You are nearing the end of your journey, my friend, and... I thought it would be only fitting to--" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The words die on his tongue as Benrey moves past Gordon through the stillness to stand at his left.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"What? </em><b><em>What</em></b><em>?"  </em>It's unclear who Gordon's asking, if he's even asking anyone anything at all, but he is so beyond confounded that he's not actually aware he's spoken aloud.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You have- d' you have credentials?" Benrey fixes the G-Man with an impassive, emotionless gaze. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Uh- I- uh-- They're in my... other coat-- i-if you wouldn't mind, I'm trying to... talk to Mr. Freeman."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon would be lying if he said he didn't take joy in watching the man in the suit stutter, in watching that practiced, slicked-back exterior crumbling in an instant. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's okay. I want to see them, though? D' you have, uh, Playstation Plus... voucher?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh my god," Gordon wheezes. He can't hold himself back from laughing anymore. Leave it to Benrey to defy broken laws of time just to be infuriating and hilarious. He could kiss them. <em>I fuckin' might! </em>Gordon thinks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Um. I don't- know what- um..." The man clears his throat, seemingly desperate to hold onto any coherency in his words. Benrey doesn't let him get the chance.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I just- I'm waiting, I want- I wanna get another month, but I want, like, a free trial?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon squeaks trying to hold back laughter and failing, hand and minigun on his knees as he doubles over. He can <em>hear</em> the amusement beneath Benrey's monotone, entirely clear that they're getting as much of a kick out of this as Gordon is, and it only serves to make him laugh harder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Right. Um... Doctor Freeman, if you... wouldn't mind. Now- is- you have to bear in mind that this next leg of your journey is going to be the... m--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Where are we?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The room falls completely silent as the three just exchange glances. Gordon didn't think he'd ever see this omniscient suit look as confused as he’s felt all the time since the Cascade. He almost feels bad. Almost.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What is happening?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What?" Benrey echoes, flashing Gordon a toothy grin that makes him snort.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The G-Man casts a single, bewildered look between Benrey and Gordon. His eyes narrow and his eyebrows crease in obvious frustration.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You'll- you- you'll figure it out. You'll figure it out." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon doesn't hate the conversation's early stop as the man turns and steps back down the hall. His vision warps, and time resumes. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The world snapping back to life after being on pause is just as disorienting as it was the first time. Gordon groans, steadying himself with his forearm braced against the wall while his vision warps and shifts. Tommy clears the distance in a second.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yo, what the fuck? I just wanna play games with people, man."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon wheezes especially sharp, falling even further forward from where he's already bent over until he topples from Tommy's arms. When he blinks, realizing he's now on the floor, Gordon laughs harder. Benrey joins in, falling to their knees and leaning on his shoulder as they snort and chuckle. Benrey manages to open their eyes as their and Gordon's giggling finally starts to let up. Tommy's laughing too, but something else tugs at their expression. Something concerned. Something troubled. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They keep staring at Benrey. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey stops looking their way.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon tries to rasp out an explanation for the man's second appearance and Benrey miraculously moving through stopped time, but none of his words seem to land with any of them. Tommy helps Gordon to his feet as he sighs, frustrated, but ultimately expecting this. He tries not to look as defeated or as exhausted as he feels when he addresses them all again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Let's go to the alien homeworld--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I think I left my- my Playstation Plus code, uh- back there. Somewhere."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Back where? In the locker room?" Gordon's brain stutters.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We should go back and get it. We c- I get a free month, we can play MAG, lots of... people online."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Guess they're picking up where they left off earlier,</em> Gordon thinks. <em>Let's go back home.</em> He recalls their expression when they spoke it. Blank. Not unusual for them, but that time... it was purposeful. Almost like it was forced.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I don't wanna go anywhere- I- I- the only room I wanna go into is <em>that one</em>, put a <em>stop </em>to all this, and say <em>goodnight!</em> To Black Mesa! For the final time!" Gordon plays up his frustration a bit more than usual, hoping to break them out of their head, hear them laugh again. They don't. Benrey's instead scuffing their boot against the tile over and over, black marks prominent against the off-white. They're back to not looking at him again. Gordon ignores the anxiety that floods his stomach.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Goodnight!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No, we're not going to bed, we're not going to bed, don't take that as an input, that was not a command-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Goodnight, Gordon!" Coomer echoes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Time to sleep! Oh! Yeah!" Benrey's already heading the wrong way out of the hall.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No!" Gordon slides a hand down his face in pure exasperation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We can't go in that room. There's no bed there." They stop walking, staring at the floor with that same intentional blankness.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Y' know what?" Gordon sighs, reaches out, and before Benrey can get out another word, he's dragging them back by the hand, ignoring the protests from the other scientists insisting he head into the main chamber.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Do any of you have any medical experience?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As Gordon rattles off his symptoms, Benrey's standing rigidly, beyond confused about why he didn't say something from the start, before they realize- he's doing this for them, to give them time. Gordon can't even ask for help when he needs it without it being for someone else. Benrey's nails dig deep into their vest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It seems like pneumothorax," one doctor speaks up. "A collapsed lung. They can occur alongside fractured ribs, which I believe you've suffered, as well. I don't believe it wise to go exerting yourself, especially on 'Xen'. We simply don't know enough about the air's contents. The change in oxygen quality, though still breathable, bears the possibility of proving... disastrous." Tommy's hand shoots out and grabs Gordon's, grip unfathomably tight. He squeezes back. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "However, there's not much we can do in the way of treatment, and time is running out. This has to be done soon, or else... well, thinking about it won't get us anywhere. The best we can do is to sit you down and observe your condition, make sure it doesn't worsen. Maybe relieve you of the suit's torso plates and examine your chest visually. We can secure a replacement part, as well. We can give you an hour before we must send you all on your way."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    After shedding the chest plate and opening the undersuit, every member of the Science Team recoils at the sight. His entire chest looks like one massive bruise. Muddy reddish-purples around the most recent site of contact, dark indigo and violet blooming almost everywhere else across the skin above his ribs. Putrid yellow-greens where older wounds healed rapidly under Darnold's work.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Ah, fuck," Gordon laughs, short and breathy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Coomer and Bubby move into the hall, talking in hushed voices with the other doctors. Benrey's to his left, Tommy to his right, each kneading cold packs into work from the copious first aid kits stockpiled here. Benrey grits their teeth. <em>Where were even a handful of these when Gordon was bleeding to death?</em> God, fuck Black Mesa.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "Gordon,"</em> Benrey starts, voice low.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I- I know what you're thinking, I- look, I honestly didn't think it was this bad. It hurt like hell, but it wasn't- I didn't think..." he sighs. "I'm sorry. I didn't wanna hold us up. Didn't want everyone to wait on me. I know you don't... you don't think that way. About me."<em>At least, that's what they told you,</em> a dark corner of his brain tells him. Gordon's teeth worry over his bottom lip as he tries exceedingly hard not to acknowledge it. "You don't think I slow us down, that I keep fucking up, that that's all I do--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy squeezes his hand and snaps him out of his spiral.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's... a work in progress. I haven't forgotten what you both s- I swear I'm working on it. I just-- I don't think I'm gonna make any real progress 'til we're out of here, you know? I'll be- I'll be amazed if I get out of this at all, actu- <em>agh!"</em> He's cut off when Benrey lays the pack over his chest without warning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Damn, Benrey! A fuckin' heads up next time would b-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You're getting out, Gordon. You're getting out."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Silence falls over them for a few minutes before Gordon negotiates the dryness in his mouth to break it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "If you're ready, or... or you think you can be if we give you time... can you tell us what's been going on?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "...yeah," Benrey swallows hard. "Yeah, I- I can-- I can do that. Just, mmh... give me a minute? Please?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Take your time. Think it through." Gordon leans over just enough to plant a quick kiss at the corner of their mouth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey only nods as both they and Tommy return focus to working over Gordon's chest. Benrey's holding both their packs in place while Tommy spreads balm across the scrapes and the chafed, bright red skin along where the suit's joints reside. They're so gentle when following it up with bandaging that Gordon tears up. He thanks them with a kiss to the bridge of their nose. It makes them laugh, a light sound, just loud enough for the three of them to hear, like a little gift the world's left in this moment just for him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon grabs their hand from where it's putting things away, and lays it on his chest, above his heart. Tommy's eyes are immediately drawn to his, as if under the sway of magnetism, and their lips meet in much the same way. The pain residing in Gordon's chest lets off briefly in favor of taking up feeling like that of a sparkler igniting. Bright, dancing sparks. Shrill, smoky sounds as it burns him through and through. Tiny embers eating through his throat, his lungs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy rests their forehead against his when they part, slowly running patterns along his cheek with their fingers. Gordon doesn't fully grasp how soothing the motions are until his eyes slide shut and his head ever so slightly bobs forward.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy laughs, then lowers themself purposefully after catching Gordon's eye. He immediately relents, head lolling onto their shoulder. The action immediately makes both their chests swell as their minds echo in tandem, <em>I love you, I love you, I love you.</em> Gordon still isn't used to how right it feels with Tommy, how safe and good he feels. Still isn't used to how his relationship with Benrey's taken a complete one-eighty, how he went from being sure they'd kill him when they met up again to trusting them with his life. As if sensing his thoughts have drifted to them, Benrey's fingers slowly drift up Gordon's chest and come to a stop at his jaw.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hm?" Gordon hums, too sleepy to work out anything more than sounds.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey gives a small smile, touching their free hand to their lips, then moving to touch Gordon's. Okay, that wakes him up a bit. <em>Holy shit, that has no right being as cute as it is.</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon answers without a second thought, and he can feel Benrey smiling against his lips at how quickly he moves in. Tommy leaves a parting kiss to Gordon's collarbone as they sit back to let him push closer to Benrey. It feels like magma seeps over him at the contact. Warm, too warm, all-consuming, a single touch enough to ignite anything it comes in contact with. It swallows up his lungs, his stomach, his veins. When they part, when it cools, his bones reform in obsidian, the same deep, glassy black as Benrey's eyes. Gordon remembers being terrified of the color before. Now, he finds it's like staring at the night sky. Infinite, but not empty. Filled with unexplored, uncharted expanses. A wellspring of possibility.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I think... think I've got it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That pulls Gordon out of the tired trance he's fallen into, and Tommy snaps to attention, too.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah? It's okay. You've got it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Don't worry. We're listening, b- but we're not... we don't expect anything. You- you're okay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey nods and takes a few steadying breaths before they start.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You ever blown a fuse? Like y- you plugged in too much shit, a-and... and you overload it? Xen is- Xen's like that. But the fuse doesn't blow. It has enough to not get... overloaded. You can plug in anything, as much as you want, and it doesn't- d- doesn't blow the fuse. Just makes whatever's plugged in stronger." Benrey's lost the two of them a bit in the metaphor, but they're both still mostly able to follow. They nod.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Goin' there, that's... that's it. Everything's going to be stronger there. Everything on Xen... it works together. They all think together. You ever notice that? When- when one crab moves in from a group, the rest follow?" Come to think of it, Gordon and Tommy each remember seeing that sort of behavior from the peeper puppies, too. Huh. Benrey must be more observant than either of them figured they would be.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I don't know if, uuh... don't know if 'swarm's' the right word, but it's- it's like that there. That's how they all think. I don't... I don't really think they can help it. Fighting back, I mean. It's- it's what Xen wants. The place. What it wants, the thing by itself? I don't think it matters."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey shrinks in on themself as that last sentence leaves their mouth, like the act of thinking through and getting their words out has sapped them. Their shoulders sag and their head falls forward before Gordon picks it up for them, not missing how they practically melt into the touch.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Okay, okay. It's okay. It's gonna be okay," he assures them quietly, guiding Benrey by the arm in between himself and Tommy. Benrey follows, shuddering when both Gordon and Tommy curl around them, pulling them both in tighter with shaky hands. They leave a kiss against Tommy's forehead, then Gordon's.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Please let it be okay," Benrey murmurs. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's moments away from asking what they mean when a light rapping on the door frame interrupts.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's been an hour."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They all reluctantly untangle themselves from the pile of limbs they've sunken into and get back up with more difficulty than anything else they've had to do so far. Gordon realizes how much he didn't miss the HEV suit once the chest piece is back on, how much heavier he feels on top of how weighed down he's already felt. The cold metal of his right arm bites into his skin more intensely now that he's missing the warmth of Benrey and Tommy. He tries not to think about it. For future Gordon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Rejoining Coomer and Bubby, the five move back down the hall towards the main chamber. They all stand at the threshold, none seeming eager to cross it. Gordon ignores the rubbery feeling in his legs to be the first.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Let's go to the alien homeworld, and kill a space god. Or something."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Not exactly a rousing speech, but it earns Gordon a tired fist pump from Coomer and a half-hearted "fuck yeah" from Bubby, so he decides he's done good enough. The scientist working on the console calls down to them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Don't enter the beam until I give the okay!" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Fuck. This is happening. Okay.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Wait.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What is <em>that?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> A blinding flash of green, and something now floats through the air. Floats closer. Oh fuck.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The piercing, aching cold immediately gives way to a blinding sting as Gordon fires. He doesn't even remember raising his arm, body acting on survival and muscle memory alone. More and more are teleporting in, closing in faster than the minigun can take them out. Gordon finds himself being pushed further and further back. Tommy. Benrey. He wants to move them both behind him before a deafening whir sounds out from the room's center.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's open! We gotta go!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon forgoes the ladder entirely and jumps the distance down, completely unfeeling of the way his legs protest as he sprints the rest of the way to the mouth of the teleporter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's ready? Okay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His next breath in catches painfully in his throat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm goin' for it!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He runs forward, jumps, and is divided in the beam's center.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Separated, falling apart, falling away, cells sent to the four ever-expanding corners of the universe and then pulled back together at lightspeed. To call the experience disorienting is a colossal understatement.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Returning to physicality, Gordon still can't make much out beyond smears of color and vague shapes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hello?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He blinks rapidly, and finds more and more coming through. Holy <em>shit.</em> They weren't lying. They're on another planet. Gordon thinks he may have said some of that out loud, but that's the last thing on his mind right now. The skies are painted in jarring, ruddy pastels, in oranges, greens, and purples, the rock he stands on a chalky, porous green. Several other floating expanses can be seen all around them, a much bigger outcropping in what equates to the rough center. He's not suffocating or struggling especially hard to breathe, so Gordon considers that a victory.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hello, Gordon!" The voice directly to his right startles him out of the observations.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "This is fucking crazy. I can't believe this is real. W- we all made it, right? Dr. Coomer-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A gentle hand graces his.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy," he smiles at them, shaky and forced, but undoubtedly relieved. They return it. "Where's Bubby? Did he go on ahead?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I haven't seen him since we... I don't know," Coomer answers. His voice wavers, usual confidence evaporated into the haze that floats above Xen. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh, no..." Realizing that that response doesn't inspire confidence, Gordon rests a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Coomer gives a weak, appreciative smile, but it fades as he turns right back to stare out over the landscape, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pulled into a tight line.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Where's Benrey?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A radiant current of green lights up the air above them, and he has his answer. There they are, standing casually on nothing and height rivaling the five stories of Gordon's apartment building.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Whoa." He regrets making a sound the moment Benrey's eyes flick over to him. Fight or flight response immediately convulses beneath his skin, and Gordon wants to run, run, <em>run,</em> get <em>far</em> away. He can't move. He doesn't want to. He does. He doesn't. No, of <em>course</em> he doesn't. Because this- this is still <em>Benrey.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Isn't it?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yo."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What's up?" Gordon's not even sure where's he going with this, not sure why words continue to tumble from his brain and out of his mouth, but he doesn't have enough presence of mind to stop himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You look a little- you look kinda... big there." The millisecond of silence has Gordon attempting to swallow over and over, throat catching on nothing, eyes unable to blink, to break away from Benrey. <em>Please look away. Don't look away.</em> He clenches his left hand into a fist as he pleads with it to stop shaking. <em>Don't let them know you're scared.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "I've been tellin' you to go back. I don't know, man, you're not listening to me. It kinda hurts." Where their teasing made him wheeze with laughter before, the playful sway in their tone makes Gordon's breath falter for a different reason now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Even if they all weren't terrible at hiding it, Benrey knows. Fear carries a taste to them across the stagnant air. Gordon's is strongest, not that that bothers them. Xen has been speaking the second the teleporter came to life, many different questions and ideas and wants. It speaks a very singular message now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <b><em>Kill. Kill. Kill.</em></b></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Benrey doesn't hear it. They don't. They <em>don't,</em> they--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Why do you want us to go back? What is happening?" Gordon pales. Why does it look like they're enjoying every second of this? Was this... did they want this? Holy shit. They <em>knew</em>. They knew this was coming.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hold on. Hold on. I was fucking right."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon puts full intent in gesturing with his right instead of his left.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's you, man!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Nothing was fired from the minigun, but it may as well have been with how quickly and deeply his tone pierces. Benrey tried. They tried to tell them. It didn't matter. It never matters. The anger, the confusion, it only makes the words Xen speaks flare with even greater ferocity.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <b><em>KILL. KILL. KILL.</em></b></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Benrey's right eye twitches and multiplies. Copy and paste. They let the additions jolt off their face entirely and flicker and jump in the air. Their skin distorts and bends in impossible angles to try and reach their eyes. Just a quick preview of coming attractions, but the slew of changing expressions playing out across Gordon's and Tommy's faces is more than worth it. It satisfies something buried, something animalistic. Something Benrey hasn't indulged in a long time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yo, it's me! What's up?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Don't come any closer. Stay at that distance." Gordon's voice shakes harder with every word. <b><em>Good.</em></b> Did Benrey think that? Did Xen think that? <b><em>Is there a difference?</em></b></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "No, man. Why you freakin' out?" A smile of nothing but eyeteeth. All sharp. Too sharp. Too many. Are they <em>moving?</em> Benrey racks them together and barks out laughter when Gordon jumps and falls trying to step back. Tommy snakes an arm around one of Gordon's. Benrey can <em>feel</em> their trembling in the air. Their laughter grows louder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Because this is... <em>insane!"</em>  <em>Anger,</em> Gordon’s thoughts swirl. <em>Get mad. Get angry. Take fear, take confusion, put it into anger. Get mad. Don't let them know you're scared. They'll kill you if they-</em> no, they won't. They wouldn't, this- this is Benrey. Benrey. This--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    This isn't Benrey.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They aren't hearing him, hands pressed against their ears as they rock in place.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy, it's- it's okay. I'm right here. We're okay right now."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    No, they're not. It's dark and cramped here. It's too much like-- <em>Who the fuck knocked out the lights? Hey, who's fuckin' around?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "Gordon!"</em> Tommy cries out, sobs dampening their attempts at breathing in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy- four, seven, eight. Can you- can you breathe with me? In for four..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They try, but when their inhale breaks off with a gasp, Tommy begins hyperventilating.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's okay. You can try again. You're doing good. In for four... hold for seven... out for eight."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They follow the prompts as Gordon gives them, then repeats his breath, repeats it again, again, though they keep stopping to shudder and wipe tears away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You're doing so good. It's okay. Are you okay with being touched?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy shakes their head fervently.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Okay. Hey, you remember what you told me? About eating dinner, and feeding Sunkist? What would you have made?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy laughs around a sob.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Sunkist- Sunkist loves wh- when I make haemul pajeon... he asks for it more when it rains, and was g- g- it was s-supposed to rain that day. I think he remembers what I, uh- ab- what I said about it before. He loves-" Tommy shudders. "He loves when I c- when I cook his longer, almost- almost 'til it's burnt!" they laugh. "I don't know why. And... I always leave out the squid. N-never liked the- the texture, hate prep- p-preparing it. Sunkist never complains, though... he always puts the jeon batter together for us." Tommy smiles, tension draining from their shoulders with a shaky sigh.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Are you okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's breath hitches when they open their eyes and see the interior of Xen. Not in their kitchen with the steady drum of rain outside. Not with Sunkist waiting nearby, head on the counter and staring longingly into the pan. But Gordon. Gordon's there. They dry their eyes. Yeah. Gordon's there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Can I...?" Tommy needn't have asked. Gordon's already nodding and pulling them against him the second they've spoken. They curl up tighter, wordlessly asking for something they didn't realize they were asking for. Suddenly, they're completely in his arms, sitting atop his folded legs and face buried in the crook of his neck while he speaks low, gentle comforts. When their shaking finally diminishes to light tremors, Tommy speaks up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "God, I- I'm so sorry--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You have nothing to be sorry for. You've helped me through, what, three of them now? I lost count."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They both share a laugh, short and dry. Quiet overtakes the crevice they've wormed into as the chuckles come to an abrupt stop.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon? I- I don't... want this," Tommy cries. "I don't want to h- hurt them. I don't want- want them to hurt us. Why is it... why is this..." they bury themself back into Gordon's shoulder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Watching Tommy curl up, like they're trying to make themself as small as possible, like if they make themself small enough, they'll just disappear and they won't have to deal with the horrible reality they've found themself in... it makes fierce protectiveness swell, and it dredges up something ugly in Gordon. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The next thought rips through his brain with such ferocity that it doesn't just stop at startling him. It <em>scares</em> him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Kill them before they kill you.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> Gordon clamps his eyes tight and bites hard on the inside of his cheek with an outcry he tries hard to swallow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He shakes his head desperately.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "K-keep- keep going. We have to keep going."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy only nods. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They help each other stand, help each other take slow steps on shaky legs, help each other crouch and weave through the tight crevices. Their hands don't separate for a second, the only anchor they have to each other, the only anchor to any semblance of normalcy before Xen tore it all away, tore Benrey away.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They both try not to think about them. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's all they think about.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Holy shit, it's chapter eight! This one was tough, though I say that about pretty much all of them, haha. I got to explore headcanons in this one moreso than some of the others, so that was fun! I'm genuinely worried that my writing's getting worse with each upload. I am... completely not confident. Not that I have been so far! But I just... I don't know. I'm not sure what I'm doing right or wrong, and the only people I have to ask for a second opinion would 100% mock me for this, so... yeah. Can't really secure beta reading. Still, I hope what I've got here is okay!<br/>Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, even if it's just keyboard smashing, hah! It's all so encouraging and is probably the only reason I've kept up with writing! I hope saying that doesn't seem like I'm putting pressure on anyone to leave a comment- never feel like you have to! I just appreciate them immensely when they come.</p><p>If you have any feedback, things I do well, things I do poorly, please let me know! I'd be very interested in hearing it.<br/>Thank you so much for reading. Bye for now!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings in rough chronological order (Warnings may include mentions of or repeat at other points in the chapter, at different levels of intensity): Lightly to highly detailed descriptions of pain, emetophobia, ranging from light to detailed depictions, violent/(Xen-induced) intrusive thoughts, semi-detailed to highly detailed body horror, detailed depictions of asphyxiation.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>    Okay, to piece together what the fuck's just happened to him. Gordon's firing from the minigun, and without warning, it's glowing a deep red and firing twice as fast. Suddenly, there's an unconceivable level of red-hot, searing pain where flesh meets metal. His vision goes white. Distantly, he feels himself collapse and sees everyone converge around him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "-don. Gordon.</em> Gordon! F- fuck... fuck, please- please answer me!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon groans and sits up, falling forward into Tommy's arms like they were ready to hold him. They probably were. Against everything else in the world and in the deep, unknowable reaches of space, Tommy is there.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Are you okay? What was- what happened? Sh- should I go through the bag to s—“</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon stops them with his lips against theirs. The kiss is quick, and Gordon's lips are cracked and terribly dry and taste of blood and dirt, but it's perfect to Tommy. They get a few seconds to return it before Gordon has to part with a stifled groan, hand above his ribs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "The gun, it's- it's- it's really fuckin' hot. Careful," he moves his right arm further away as he speaks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Is that why you- why you dropped? You screamed, and... and the barrels were- were heated..." Tommy trails off, eyes darting between his face and the minigun.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah. I think that's what Darnold was tryna--" he winces when he jostles his arm. "I think that might've been that Demon Gun shit."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Devil Gun!" Coomer corrects blithely, extending a hand his way. Gordon knows it's put on. The forced cheeriness makes his stomach bunch up in knots, but he still lets himself be pulled onto his feet, ignoring the way his head spins and the nausea that instantly bubbles up in the back of his throat. They have to keep moving. If they're moving, he won't have to think about--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yo."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon freezes at the mouth of the cave. Benrey is watching, gargantuan form towering against the horizon alongside the other pillars and strangely-shaped earth. An ominous obelisk of an unfathomable being only vaguely masquerading as human.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Should we even reply to them?" Gordon asks. They're all frozen, bodies unmoving apart from wide eyes following Benrey's movements.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yo!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What do we say? What do we say?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's hand finds Gordon's left and squeezes. He holds on tight. Holds onto Tommy. They hold onto him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I find myself at a loss for words," Coomer gets out. His pace grows hurried as they all turn and move in deeper.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Deeper. Deeper still. That's all they can do.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Go in deeper.</p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p>    The deep, marbled reds of the "vents" and the way it squishes and gives beneath his feet makes Gordon's earlier nausea grow unbearably. He groans and wobbles, knees buckling, but he is <em>not</em> collapsing here. The thought of falling and feeling... whatever the fuck this is against his face is enough to keep him moving.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Is this place <em>alive?</em> Entirely?" Gordon asks from the back of the line. He counts himself lucky that none of them answer that. He doesn't actually think he wants to know. Though, he remembers someone telling him that Xen <em>wants.</em> If something can want, can have the capacity to express what it wants, then...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon heaves. Thinking about it isn't going to get them home. The words <em>don't think, just go</em> replay in his thoughts on loop.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They're finally in a space big enough to move off of hands and knees, and waiting for them is another portal. This one is different than the others, though. Instead of a bolt cast from and suspended between bizarre alien technology, this one looks more like an open doorway, the sharp contrast between the green light it gives off and the sickening reds of the tunnel almost painful to look at.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You guys ready?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They each give short sounds of affirmation before Coomer decides more needs to be said. He steps forward, placing a hand on Gordon's shoulder. He can feel the doctor shaking as bad as Gordon imagines he is himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "As long as I'm by your side, Gordon, I'm ready for anything."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Same to you, man." Gordon extends the effort to return his smile, fighting against the way his lips tremble.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    "That's a lie."</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The response is instant, cutting, comes so quick as though Benrey was waiting for them to encourage each other, to motivate each other to keep pushing forward, just so they could shoot it down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Where were they? Where were they- why is this not freaking you guys out? How are you guys keeping your cool during this?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Now Gordon, it's only fair you know I am freaking the fuck out!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon laughs, riddled with anxiety that borders hysteria. "You're good at hiding it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They speak to one another in short, fragmented sentences, tension mounting as they begin to fully realize what's waiting for them on the other side. <em>Benrey.</em> Benrey is. What that entails... none of them know. The unknown is never not a frightening thing, but here, it goes beyond simply being scary. All four of them have come to realize that this is it. Where Tommy, Coomer, and Bubby have their strengths, Xen is uncaring. Where they would always have a way around human limitations, no such option exists here. They can <em>die</em> here, and not the kind of death they've shrugged off before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "How do we do this? If Benrey's what we have to kill--" Gordon bites down on his lower lip, skin turning white beneath his teeth. He almost wants to ask for ideas about how they would do it, before he realizes... he can't. He won't.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's terrified, he feels like at any second his body will just give up and he won't be able to get up and take a single step further, and Benrey... Benrey scares him. Worse than he's ever been scared before. But he doesn't want them to die. They don't have to. They <em>can't</em>. The five of them didn't get through everything together to have it end here. Gordon's known how badly he's wanted to get out from the start, but only now is he realizing that Benrey is a crucial part of that. It's not about going home anymore. It's about going home <em>with</em> Benrey. About going home with Tommy. About the entire Science Team living their lives outside of the apocalypse. Living together.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We're not killing them." Gordon declares. "I don't give a shit if that's what we're 'supposed' to do here. I don't care if- I don't give a <em>fuck</em> about what Xen wants!" He could be imagining it, but Gordon swears he feels something far below him rumble and shift. He swallows and consciously ignores it. Another groan from the earth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We're going home. That includes them. I-it- it- it can't <em>not</em> include them. They tried to tell me and Tommy. I didn't get it, but now... fuck, they were- they think that Xen has-- I remember them telling me that each separate thing, what it wants doesn't matter. I think that's <em>bullshit!</em> What Benrey wants matters to me, to Tommy, to the both of you. And it matters to them. I <em>know</em> it does. If... if we can talk, maybe... maybe this can be different. Shit could be different! Do- can you guys get on board with that?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy clears the distance and immediately moves in for a hug. It feels as though they rest their entire weight against him, but Gordon has them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We're getting them home," they say softly. "We're going home."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Coomer steps forward next. He looks at his hands, then back to Gordon. A strange light colors his eyes before he blinks it away and gives Gordon his favorite smile, the warm, grandfatherly kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We're with you, Gordon."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Always will be," Bubby continues. He hesitates, glancing back towards the portal, before his shoulders tense and he looks away, closing his arms around the three of them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    None of them are sure how long they stay that way, but they're all sure it isn't nearly long enough. They untangle, and Gordon subconsciously moves himself to the front. One last tired, determined stare shared between them, and he steps through.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    "Whoa."</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Nothing else to say when seeing a massive structure, pointed spires seemingly sprouting from the ground, all in aimless shapes and sizes, yet some clear design still stands behind it, a red blaze at its center coloring all of the sky a muted crimson. The trip between the outcroppings is almost entirely silent. Each of their faces have fallen completely blank, focus entirely on landing their jumps and on their thoughts of what lies ahead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Holy <em>shit."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The saturated orb of red in the structure's center dances with waves of light that radiate outward like tentacles, curling and bending unnaturally, beckoning them closer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey doesn't feel the same fear they felt off of them when they got here. It's been replaced with this worn-down determination. They’re feeling confident. Benrey laughs to themself. Confidence that they can <em>win?</em> Kill <em>Benrey? </em><b><em>Kill Xen? </em></b></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>
      <em>    Grind them into unrecognizable stains of red. It would be so easy.</em>
    </b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's fully sunken into their own head, Xen's fingers raking deep through their brain, creating vivid images to be played of all the ways they could kill the four of them. Their four friends. <b><em>You are thousands within one body. You are your own companion. The four, too weak to be anything other than dead. Kill. Kill. Kill. </em></b>But they had something more than just friends. They had--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>
      <em>    Love does not exist. Affection is a distraction. You are infinite. Complete. There is nothing but here. There is nothing but now. They want to tear it all apart. Tear them apart. Rip. Tear. Kill.</em>
    </b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you!"</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's voice is impossibly loud, and they revel in the sight of all four of them covering their ears and shrinking inwards. Making themselves <em>even</em> <em>smaller. </em><b><em>Small. Weak. Kill.</em></b> Benrey waits to taste that earlier fear in the air, but it doesn't come. Instead, Gordon looks up and meets their eyes. He just looks... tired. Sad. Benrey's wicked grin falters. Gordon opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but Benrey doesn't give him the chance. Not going to give him the opportunity to say more shit that makes Xen's voice louder. Benrey shoots away so quickly the motion would've been missed if he blinked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon, do you like video games?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon answers that he does, reminds him of his dream, and Coomer continues, saying he's never been fond of them, but that there was a game from his younger years that's stuck with him. Gordon smiles to himself when Coomer tells him which. No more fitting a game than Super Punch-Out, he thinks. The fond recollections, the wondering of which game they'd each most like to live in, it feels too soft, too simple, too good for everything that's happened here, everything that's yet to happen. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Why are you telling me this?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon has his suspicions, and he's hoping fervently that Coomer won't confirm them. From the melancholy glint in his eyes, the hand that never leaves his shoulder, the sad, gentle smile... it feels all too much like he's saying goodbye.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon, I don't think there's any turning back from this point." Coomer's hand on his shoulder shakes where it pats down before he pulls it back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No," Gordon speaks in a sigh. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly before steeling himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You guys ready? Listen... I don't know what's gonna lie behind that portal." His tongue suddenly feels heavy and foreign in his mouth. He can't make himself follow through with the words that would've come next, can't find himself admitting aloud that they may go in and not come back out. He struggles to swallow before he turns to his lifeline, his remarkable constant against the horrors ever-changing in Black Mesa, on Xen, in the world and in the deep reaches of spaces in their entireties.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy? You're a strong man. So strong..." Gordon murmurs, trailing off before he recollects himself to continue. "Tommy, if it wasn't for you, I would have died back at Black Mesa."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon..." Tommy pleads softly, holding his gaze and closing the space between them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You've done so much for me. You're an- an incredible person. I'm so glad I've gotten to know you. You're always so- you're so unbelievably good-hearted. Smart, so smart. And just... thank you. For being there for me. This whole thing's been a nightmare, but you... I'd do it all over again if it meant getting to wind up with you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy wants to return his affections, tell Gordon just how much he means to them, but words have long since been swallowed up in overwhelming, all-encompassing anxiety and dread, mind working unbelievably fast but uncooperative with their voice. Tommy reasons that they don't need words to show Gordon exactly how they feel.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy throws their arms around Gordon's shoulders, peppering his face with kisses. He laughs, a wonderful sound they can never hear enough of. They eventually slow, lean in closer, a wordless question they already know the answer to, and Tommy kisses him. All the ways Gordon loves them come through in this one instance. The careful way Tommy frees his hair, combs through it so gently, slots their fingers through it to press at the back of his head and kiss him deeper. The slow, soothing slide of their other hand along the length of his jaw, touch so soft, not as though he is fragile, but as though he is <em>valuable</em>. The way Tommy's body relaxes against him despite everything. All the ways Tommy loves Gordon comes through, too. The strong arms that loop around their waist, pulling them closer, movements decided and steady; the large, warm hand that runs up their back and threads its fingers into their hair up from the nape of their neck, uses the leverage to pull himself even closer, how he inadvertently tangles his legs in theirs, easily capable of tripping the both of them, but Tommy knows Gordon wouldn't let them fall. Not here, not anywhere else. Neither of them think they'll ever be used to how natural it feels to hold, to be held, all of it. Every wonderful part.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    When they both draw back, Gordon captures their chin in a feather-light hold to keep their eyes on his.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I love you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy tightens their grip on his hand, leans down for one brief, last kiss that they hope, that they wish, that they plead isn't their very last, and he knows they love him, too. Gordon turns wordlessly, and Tommy carefully gathers his hair for him, pulls it back up. One last look shared between them before they reluctantly separate, Gordon taking two unsure steps closer to the portal before he turns back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy? Pronouns for goin' out at the end of the world?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy snorts. "She or they."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon grins. "Alright. Alright, let's do it!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He steps through.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They're all right behind him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh god- <em>whoa,</em> fuck!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    For the first and last time, Gordon thanks Xen, grateful for the low gravity after the teleporter places them at the highest point of a massive cavern. Although lower, gravity is not reduced in here as much as it was out there. When Gordon's legs connect with the ground, the subsequent jolt that rushes up his legs makes him lightheaded.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He seeks out Tommy, finds her standing right behind him, and holds out his hand. She holds onto him without hesitation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What is this?" Gordon wonders aloud. "Holy shit, this place is huge."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He pulls his eyes off the cavern ceiling and turns his gaze downward. <em>They're even bigger now,</em> is the first thing he thinks. Benrey is there, laying in a bizarre, crumpled pile at the cavern's center, neck bent at a sickening angle and face submerged beneath the thick, red pool that goes up past Gordon's knees.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh my god. Shh, shh," he quiets the Team's nervous chattering. "Are they dead?" Gordon knows they aren't, but still nears closer. He's barely taken five steps towards them before Benrey's head shoots up, sending waves lapping against the stalagmites. The words Gordon had been running through his head, carving out and sculpting and fine-tuning, are all gone the second their eyes land on him. Hundreds, most not even on their face, jolting and flickering in and out of existence all around them. Gordon's nausea flares back to life and the horrible, prickling sensation of being watched dances over his skin and raises the hair in its wake.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey opens their mouth as if to speak, but instead, two other mouths open beneath it. Gordon immediately sways, trembling hand grasping his knee for support.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I knew this was gonna happen," all three mouths speak in sync.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey. We can just... talk, man. Just talk through this?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Their many eyes grow wide before returning to their half-lidded, impassive resting state.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What, you wanna talk? Mm... nah. Don't feel like it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You're talking now. Look, you- you could've killed us before. You could've fucked with us earlier. You didn't. You let us get here." Gordon takes a step forward, but the rage that lights up in Benrey's many eyes makes him fall still. "I wish I could've gotten it. When you tried to tell us before. I didn't put it together. But... but it's not too late. We can still turn around, go back home. I want to go home with you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Something at the back of Benrey's throat resounds unbelievably deep, sending out ripples in cascades across the pool's surface.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Fine. Talking? I can talk."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They launch into an entire nonsensical tirade, talking about what they had planned after their shift, about playing games with their friend, about Playstation Plus and Heavenly Sword. Gordon doesn't say a word. At some point, he begins walking closer again, left hand extended in front of him. That almost makes Benrey pause, some of their eyes darting between Gordon's face and his hand. What is he doing? He wants to talk, Benrey's talking. Why isn't he saying anything back? Why hasn't his face changed once since they started? Benrey knows what to do.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They suddenly crane their neck forward to accentuate their words, and <em>there</em> it is. Gordon jumps backward, arms raised defensively, eyes wide and frantic, chest heaving with strained breaths in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>That</em> gets Xen talking. Every part, every being, every separate instance of flora and fauna, alive and dead, they all speak, and they <em>loved</em> that. Thousands of voices, thousands of commands, demands, requests, pleas. It's deafening, overwhelming, it's... right. It's <b><em>right.</em></b> It's <b><em>good.</em></b> Benrey has never felt better.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You're <em>scared</em> of me," their grin stretches off of their face. Xen howls, chatters, trills in their ears, the closest it can get to laughter. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I am," Gordon admits. "I can't help what I'm scared of, not completely. What I can help is what I do about it. And what I'm doing about it?" He walks the distance he backed away from, and clears it even further. Benrey rumbles from their chest, unfathomable and incredibly low. Gordon stops.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm not going to hurt you. I <em>can't.</em> I'm not... I'm not killing you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's eyes all grow wide while their pupils constrict to pinpricks, all trained on Gordon. <b><em>He lies. He is afraid. He wants you dead. Kill him before he has a second to act.</em></b></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey," a second voice, a familiar voice, somehow momentarily louder than Xen despite how gentle it is. Benrey's eyes move to Tommy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey, I'm sorry. I'm- I'm sorry for not... understanding. You tried to tell us, but we c- couldn't understand, we didn't know that it would be like this."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah? Well... lil' late to do anything now," Benrey cackles, ripples swelling into waves that crash and echo with such ferocity and fervor that the four all have to struggle to keep balance.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No! No, it's not!" Tommy cries. "Whatever is- whatever Xen makes you think, what <em>you</em> want, <em>just</em> you, that matters! I- it... it matters so much! You're not just... part of it!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey laughs even louder. It sounds different now, an underlying emotion none of them can place.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Listen to them!" Gordon yells. "She's not wrong! If what you did never mattered, if it was just Xen, never you, I wouldn't be fucking standing here! <em>You</em> made the choice to stop them, to get me away, to help me when I lost my arm! You did the exact goddamn opposite of what Xen would've wanted you to do!”</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    He's right.</em> A different voice. A warmer one. Something kinder than when Xen speaks. But it's so, so quiet over the din of Xen's thousands, millions of voices. That's just what Xen does. It takes the good, the bad, nullifies it, renders it into nothing, renders it into everything, renders it into <em>Xen.</em> There's no point in trying to fight it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "My friends are here," Benrey cuts in. "Look at this."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A horrible, discordant resonance erupts from them, overwhelmingly stentorian. It shakes the very foundation, sends cracks up the stalagmites and the walls, makes the stalactites sway dangerously above. A second sound, and they break.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    "Move!"</em> Gordon cries. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The four of them each split in different directions, dodging and sprinting between the falling rock. Seeing them scatter just stokes the growing fire in Benrey's veins, the fire that pumps their mimic heart, fire that burns and scorches their faux lungs, fire that smolders and leaves heavy embers along the lining of their mock stomach. That's right- everything Gordon and Tommy "loved" about them is <em>fake.</em> <em>This</em> is them. They don't love what they are now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    "Welcome!" </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Skeletons clip through the walls and rise from beneath the waves in the hundreds, crawling and clambering forward so rapidly it makes Gordon step completely away from Benrey, backing up against the wall. He instinctively clutches above the minigun, frantic breathing pulling his chest up and down vigorously. In that next moment, his eyes meet theirs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon watches as their mouth opens, teeth <em>shifting</em> and growing thinner, becoming razor-sharp needle points, multiplying, rows of teeth that extend all the way down their throat, spinning and churning as they take in massive lungfuls of air. The groaning screams that come from Benrey next are nothing short of earsplitting. It sounds like gigantic metal beams are scraping and grinding against each other in a collapse. When it ceases, all of their ears are ringing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Suddenly, Benrey rises and <em>unfurls.</em> Limbs multiply and scratch and clash against each other as they stretch and bend in hundreds of different angles. A low screeching sounds emanates from them as they continue to divide and protract, and when the sound concludes, the skeletons all spring forward at once. Gordon's view is completely obstructed as the Team is swarmed. He panics, blindly lashing out, desperate to keep them away, to get them off, <em>god,</em> they're grabbing onto him, they're pulling him down, they're pulling him in every direction--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Fuck it!" The minigun's barrels spin up, and Gordon follows, arcing the spray of bullets in every direction the skeletons occupy. If it's working, he's completely unable to tell. It's as if the gunfire only encourages their push inward, their hands clawing against him, the scraping sounds of bone on the suit dreadfully grating. Gordon focuses intently on one, shooting at it long after it drops. After another moment, it sits up, makes eye contact, and clips below the waves and through the stone floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's not doing anything!" Gordon screams. "Tommy! <em>Tommy!"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon bashes the gun outward, expending as much force as he can send it out down with, aiming for the skulls, nausea peaking at the sounds of bone cracking and splintering, but he keeps going. He keeps throwing them aside, keeps pushing forward even as one lunges and claws down his face, blood springing forward and running into his eye, keeps plowing through them, even with half his vision blinded, mowing them down until he finally reaches Tommy. They're dazed, look as terrified as he feels, a sleeve of their coat partially bloodied, but god, they're alive.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They make a break for the portal that's opened across the chamber, sprinting beneath Benrey and filing in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon emerges, again at the ceiling of a colossally tall area. Gravity isn't nearly low enough to take the pain from the fall. He lands on the unyielding rock beside, not in, a smallish body of water. Just his fucking luck. The air is immediately knocked from his lungs, and he’s sure the way he's landed on his left leg is most definitely bending in a way it's not quite meant to. Gordon gasps, vision fading out for a good five seconds before it returns.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Are we safe? What is this?" Gordon tries to get onto his feet, but he stumbles and falls right back down. For a minute, Gordon just lets himself breathe. Lets his shoulders convulse alongside the wheezing pants that jolt down his entire body, lets his eyes scan the room without seeing, lets himself roll onto his back and stare up at the ceiling. Lets a few tears slip past where he's wrenched his eyes shut. Just a few. He thinks he's earned that much, at least.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "G- Gordon," Tommy gulps. She's drenched, having landed in the pool he didn't, and Gordon's just grateful she didn't hit the ground. She's breathing just as hard as he is as she drags herself into his periphery, then practically dropping herself onto the space between his chest and stomach. Tommy runs a shaking hand up his cheek. Gordon puts his hand over hers. The cavern is silent save for all of their quickened, labored breathing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What the <em>fuck</em> is the plan? What do we do?" Gordon's voice wavers, eyes shut tight as he strains against the tears that so badly want to spill. "I-- I don't know! I'm scared as shit," he rasps, voice cracking. "I thought they would hear us out. I don't... I don't want to do this." Gordon tries to keep his shuddering breaths quiet as he begins to cry, but Tommy hears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Shh... it's okay," their thumb gently brushes away his tears. "We just- we have to try again. We'll get them to hear us. It's okay. It'll all be okay. We'll- w- we'll go home, watch TV, and Sunkist'll take up the whole... whole couch, and none of us will move him 'cause he looks too comfortable, so we'll all-- all sit on the floor. I'll m-make dinner, and..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's voice falls away. Sobs and tremors rack their body, arms circling around Gordon's waist as they muffle their cries into his chest. Gordon passes his arm up and down their back as evenly as he can manage while they both work through the sniffling. When they can finally stop, he sits them both up, feeling numb aside from the growing headache and his cracked rib piercing his lung.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy resigns themself to patching up the long scratches that trail from above his right eye all the way down to his jaw. Gordon's lost in his head, running over the words he wants to speak to Benrey, knowing they'll be forgotten the second he meets their eyes again. He hisses when Tommy begins cleaning the cuts.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Sorry," she murmurs, returning with a gentler hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon notices one hell of a bruise on her jaw just below her ear, flesh raised and swollen, deep gash at its center. He moves just enough to reach the bag, combs through it blindly until his fingers close around a bandage and a tube of what he figures is an antibiotic. She flinches when Gordon gets it open and dabs the solution over the wound.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Sorry," Gordon echoes, and they meet his eyes with a small smile. They're both joined by Bubby and Coomer, who take what they need and tend to each other in the same way, all continuing in silence. When they're done, they just sit in their quiet semi-circle, staring at the floor, at the walls, staring at nothing, really, and they all stay silent.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You're all so quiet," Benrey's voice goads from above, from their sides, from below, from <em>everywhere,</em> they can <em>feel</em> the vibrations of their words running beneath the ground. They all jump to their feet, standing back to back as they feverishly scan the room, waiting for what's to come.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A glint catches the lenses of his glasses, and Gordon turns in time to see a light pulsating beneath the water's surface.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "The- the water!" he gets out, and they all follow him in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There, in a vortex of swirling reds, greens, yellows, is a passport. Tommy's.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There, too, are about a dozen skeletons, now tearing through the water straight for them. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    With Tommy directly behind him, Gordon feels no remorse, no hesitation in slamming the side of the gun through their skulls when they reach out for them. He realizes somehow, it's <em>working</em> this time. When a skeleton drops, it's no longer playing possum and waiting to slink away. When they go down, they're <em>staying</em> down. The four get closer, and unmistakably, it's Tommy's passport.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Even underwater, Gordon's gun thankfully still fires. The minigun overheats, flare from the barrels blinding as is the feverish heat that injects its tendrils deep into Gordon's arm. They're done save for one more. When the last skeleton goes, they watch as the passport goes with it, disintegrating and falling apart in a cloud of wispy black smoke.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Holy shit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Wait, oh fuck, Gordon's been under way too long--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Two sets of arms frantically hoist him up until they finally break the surface. Gordon gasps and sputters in piercing, deep breaths, almost sinking back below as his body gives out. Coomer and Bubby pull themselves from the pool, then pull Gordon out, dragging him beside where Tommy lies, still panting and coming back around themself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon? Gordon, are you hearing me?" Bubby sits him up, pats his back as Gordon retches up untold amounts of water. He manages a shaky nod, and Bubby sighs, loud and relieved. Tommy loosely closes a hand around his. Gordon gives her a weak smile, tries to squeeze back, but his hand is uncooperative and motionless.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We blew it up! <em>What?"</em> Gordon wheezes. "Tommy, was that <em>your</em> passport? Check your pockets!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy obliges after processing the question, skimming over where they normally keep it, then searching through their other pockets. Another moment passes, and their eyes go wide.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah, my passport's missing!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Okay! Okay..." Gordon continues a mile a minute, pure stream of consciousness tumbling from his mouth as his mind works a thousand times faster, trying to piece it all together, trying to find some ounce of sense, of understanding, amidst a sea of confusion and fear. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I don't understand this. I don't get it! But... we gotta blow up the rest of those passports. I think-- I think they're keeping them <em>here,</em> somehow. Like, fuckin'-- I don't know! But I think... no, I think we can do this. We gotta go!" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They all nod, pull each other back up, and they move on. Press forward.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    That's all they can do.</p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p>    "They're cocooning me! I- I can't move!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Skeletons surge around Gordon, hardly diminished in number from when they first appeared, still in the hundreds, singing in low, warbling tones as his arms and legs seize up and convulse. As the orbs multiply and obscure his vision entirely, it's suddenly a vacuum in its center. Air and sound have vanished, and there's nothing left. Gordon feels his legs give out underneath him, but he stays upright, pinned in place. He wants to claw at his neck, plead with the oxygen that's departed him to return, but he can't move, <em>fuck,</em> his vision's growing dark, he can't see--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Breathe, Gordon! You're out, y- you're... you're okay! Please- please breathe with me. Please. Please!" Tommy babbles.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon blinks his eyes open from where he suddenly finds himself in their arms, pulling in deep, gulping gasps of air in between involuntary screams and cries. Every sound that's ripped from his throat without him being able to hold it back eats away at his resolve, the hope that things can turn out better slipping further and further away. <em>Kill them before they kill you.</em> Gordon screams again when the thought returns, throwing his hands up around his head. The minigun clanks against his skull, but he hardly feels it, shrinking further and further in on himself. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy stands, unfeeling of Gordon's hand reaching out and grasping desperately for them to stay.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey! Benrey, I know you hear me! You could h- they nearly <em>killed</em> him just now!" Tommy screams. "Tell me! Tell me if this is- do <em>you</em> really want to kill us? I'm asking <em>you, only</em> you!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey freezes and the skeletons pause in their songs, all turning and staring at Tommy when they do. <b><em>Yes,</em></b> says Xen, screaming and crowing delightedly. <em>No,</em> says something softer, something deeper, something that's just a little bit louder than the first time they heard it. The conflicting answers tear Benrey apart with a howl that sends tremors through the floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The skeletons all swell and flood forward, rushing straight towards Tommy and Gordon. It's all primal will to survive, entirely instinct when Gordon's body throws itself into motion, pulling Tommy along by the wrist and sprinting towards where a second portal has opened above them. Running, jumping, sailing, and they're in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     Gordon gasps as Bubby, several of him, crowd around and begin clawing and tearing, some of their fingers scratching <em>through</em> the many layers of the suit. Only when Tommy cries out does Gordon snap back into reality, clenching his eyes impossibly tight and gritting his teeth unbearably as the gun overheats, and he mows them down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They've all finally fallen, and so has he.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The tension in his legs supporting him drains away completely, and Gordon's unable to slow or prevent his fall as he collapses in a heap. The ringing in his ears is so shrill and prompts such horrible nausea, he barely has a second to react in sitting himself up and turning to the side to empty his already barren stomach, feeling like he comes close to throwing that up with it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gord--" Tommy hisses in a breath through their teeth, head between their knees, migraine pressing every horrible button of pain and misery it can, heartbeat so persistent against the back of their skull that it feels like it'll burst through, an explosion of blood and brains and overwhelming thoughts and feelings and fear that'll drip and mingle and ooze down the wall where their back is pressed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Watching them all fall apart, it doesn't feel good like it did before. The primal part, the part Benrey used to think wasn't there anymore, the part reawakened by Xen- it loves this, every second. But something different... something different occupies their mind now, dulls the voice of Xen, and it makes Benrey feel fucking <em>terrible.</em> Watching Tommy crawl pathetically across the floor to reach Gordon, watching him try hard to keep his eyes open, scrounging up the stamina to respond to her, barely conscious, shaking like a leaf, like he’s light enough to be blown away by the faintest shift in wind, to move far beyond where Benrey could ever reach, they suddenly realize that they're desperate not to let him go where they can't follow. Why? What changed?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Nothing's changed. You love them. </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The voice, clearer than ever, finally louder than Xen, it's back. It's back, and Benrey knows it’s entirely true. They can't kill them, <em>god,</em> why did they ever want to? </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>
      <em>    The differences between you and them are as a chasm they will never clear. Nothing compared to everything.</em>
    </b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    But they're everything,</em> Benrey thinks. Being loved is something they never thought was meant for them, yet Gordon and Tommy have been hellbent on giving it to them. Gordon has- well, not forgiven, but come to an understanding with them about his arm, listened to them, held them, loved them. Tommy, after years of the two dancing around each other, after reconnecting like it was impossible to keep them apart, after being loved by someone they've loved for decades, was a part of their life again. Two wonderful, incredible people that cared for them- god, there was no getting around that, was there? They <em>cared</em> about Benrey, they <em>loved </em>Benrey, refused to attack them, refused to kill them, still wanted to go home with them...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    All of a sudden, Xen becomes a <em>million times</em> <em>louder</em> in a millisecond, voices rising from a scream to a chorus of horrible, head-splitting shrieks that jolt violently through Benrey’s bones, removes every warm thought and feeling with the cold, vast blackness of space, cold that sends excruciating ache completely through them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey hardly notices them all jump back up and go through the portal back until they too warp back into the cavern.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>     So absolutely irretrievable in the depths of Xen's rancorous din, Benrey is unable to hear Gordon talking to them, circling them slowly, calling their name in a voice gentler than they feel they deserve. Xen gets <em>even</em> <em>louder</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The skeletons, even fewer than before, are no less a force to contend with. Tommy is soon wrapped and suspended by dozens of strings of Sweet Voice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon sees red. He charges through, knocks them aside, stomps them when they're down, relishes in how the bone splinters beneath the HEV boots. That surge of violence scares him, scares him to know it came from him, to know he's capable of momentarily shutting off compassion. He doesn't think about it. Gordon scoops Tommy into his arms, ducks behind one of the spires to let them breathe and come back to him. As soon as they do, Gordon walks towards the center of the room despite how the other three protest it and beg for him to come back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The skeletons stop singing, distant chattering of teeth and clattering of vertebrae.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey. I know you don't want this. This isn't- you wouldn't do this to us. I <em>know</em> you wouldn't. You wouldn't because you tried to warn us! And you've- you haven't gone after us. The skeletons have. You've never... moved in to kill, but you could've."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey bares their teeth, but Gordon doesn't budge, physically or mentally.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "So I'm gonna give you the chance. Best one you're gonna get. And if you can't kill me? If you can't kill me... then I know you won't." Gordon's arms fall to his sides. "But if that's actually what you want, kill me right now. I'm not-- I'm not shooting a single bullet from this gun again. I'm <em>done </em>with this. I'm not fucking killing you, man."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>
      <em>    Take the chance. It's perfect. Kill. Kill. Kill.</em>
    </b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    Trust,</em> that little, warm voice speaks up. <em>He's still putting trust in you.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>
      <em>    He thinks you're too weak-willed. Prove him wrong.</em>
    </b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    He's trusting your kindness, trusting you. Trusting that you're better than violence and death. Thinks you're more. Thinks you're better.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>
      <em>    KILL. KILL. KILL.</em>
    </b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Xen is louder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey pulls back one drawn-out arm from several, clipping and twisting impossibly, and hurtles it down to Gordon. He doesn't make a single move to get away even when the other three scream for him to run.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    At the last possible second, Benrey retracts some of the force behind their arm to avoid turning Gordon into a red and orange splatter across the pool's surface, but it's too late to pull their hand back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's thrown far across the room, crashing into the cavern wall with an appalling <b><em>crack</em></b>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's blood runs cold when he falls and goes completely still. Xen cheers and screeches in their ears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    "Gordon!" </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The three cross the distance to reach him, panic and terror rising high in their voices, talking over each other in an anxious swell, but Gordon stops them all mid-sentence with a sharp bark of laughter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You- you held back! I fuckin' <em>knew it!" </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Wait. What? That blow one hundred percent broke something, maybe multiple somethings, and Gordon still believes they're holding back? How the fuck could he even tell?</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's working! I-it's- it's actually working! We-" Gordon sits up with the Team's help, incredulous laughter lighting up the dim ambiance of the cavern. Xen falls incredibly quiet, seeming to be just as surprised as Benrey is.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Holy shit, we can do this. We can-- Benrey!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They snap their attention onto him, disbelief climbing higher as their eyes meet his persevering, resolved gaze. Their heart swells at the sight.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    For another blissful moment, Xen is even quieter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We're going home!"</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fuck yeah babey! I feel good today and I'm not even super worried about whether it's good or not this time around- it just felt good and right working on this chapter! Let's fucking gooooo! I think the short, clipped writing style is great for the action sequences, mainly because I don't know how to write fights and the shorter sentences work great for conveying urgency. I hope this ending doesn't count as a cliffhanger- I don't like doin' that! I hope it just ends on a hopeful, optimistic note that doesn't leave you wondering too hard!</p><p>Thanks to everyone who's read, left comments and kudos, all of it! I don't know if I would've kept writing this without the support, and I've really enjoyed it so far, so I would've completely missed out! Next chapter will hopefully be coming sooner than later- I'm having way too much fun writing this, and even moreso now that we're at the grand finale. Probably gonna be three or so more chapters of this, if I had to guess. Just depends on how much I end up fitting in a single chapter, yanno? We will see! Thanks again for everything. Bye for now!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings in rough chronological order (may occur at multiple other points in the chapter): very brief suicidal ideation (it's two words and only very lightly implied), semi to highly detailed descriptions of blood and injury, very brief mention of a panic attack, semi-descriptive body horror, non-detailed talk of death, detailed depiction of electrocution.</p><p>If I'm missing something or you'd like a warning mentioned, please don't hesitate to let me know!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>    "It's not doing anything!" Gordon shrills.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He's been entirely banking on the unproven idea, the hypothesis, that destroying the passports somehow fucks with Xen's sway. In the middle of dodging skeletons and Sweet Voice and gunfire from the passport, he's fearing that he's been wrong. What are they meant to do now? He can't kill them. He won't. Would sooner--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Bam."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Oh fuck.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Passport rounds are ejecting ten times faster, barely a free space not occupied by fast-flying orbs and skeletons. Gordon's focus is scattered across twenty different places until it centralizes on one. When Tommy screams.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon couldn't have gotten over to her faster if he tried. Weaving in between skeletons, he's suddenly surrounded by a massive congregation who tackle him from all sides, thin fingers gouging deep into his face, into the suit, <em>through</em> the suit. Gordon yelps, then bites his outcries back, tremors racking his legs horribly, but he stands. Skeletons still clutching his ankles and legs, one's arms slung around his waist, much heavier than he thinks they should be, weighing him down, but he walks, then crawls, over to where Tommy is pressed between a spire and the wall, skeletons still cleaving lines through the suit, into his back and legs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy cries out at the sight of Gordon when he nears, shooting a few skeletons between the sockets until the rest scatter, aim still damn near perfect despite how badly they're shaking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy," Gordon gulps. "What got you? Lemme- lemme see."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Y-you're- you're- you're bleeding. Your bhh- back--<em> god,</em> your face--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Tommy."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Tommy flinches, then turns sides. Part of the flesh of her left shoulder is just <em>gone,</em> blood pouring from the semi-circle wound coloring nearly the entirety of her sleeve.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon pulls the messenger bag as carefully from her shoulders as he can, roots through to find the last of their gauze, and assuredly not biting his tongue hard enough to fill his mouth with blood when he has to pull out a combat knife to cut with. He goes for a strip of the bag's cloth, the only thing still relatively clean they have on hand. Gordon proceeds as gently as possible, but the contact still makes Tommy writhe, gasping and choking back sobs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He finishes, dries their eyes, helps them up. A silent exchange. They move.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's no longer holding the gun, but their <em>actual</em> passport. Holy shit. They're... they're helping. The Team had no ideas for how they'd even reach it, and here they are giving it to them. They both make eye contact for a second, and if Gordon has any doubts about their intentions, they vanish the second Benrey gives him a tiny, nearly imperceptible nod. Gordon nods back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Still refusing to fire a single round more, his right arm flexes, the searing heat making it harder for the skeletons to pull themselves back together when they're downed by a blow from the barrels. The Science Team throws out everything they have. Gordon thinks he counts thrice more the gun overheating before finally, mercifully, the Team blows up Benrey's passport.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey pauses, looks down at their now empty hands, and their body <em>flares</em> and fans out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Their limbs have to compact in horrible shapes to fit in the confines of the cavern. Their eyes take up more room than anything else, showing up everywhere, the walls, beneath the pool, up and down the stalagmites. Multiplied teeth file out of their mouth, emerging from below the ground and bobbing up and down in a horrifying dance.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What the fuck- I thought it'd be <em>over!"</em> Gordon cries out. "What do we... do..." He abruptly staggers, as though everything that's happened since they landed on Xen has caught up to him all at once, and his body can't support its own weight anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Before he can hit the ground, Coomer catches him, moving Gordon's head over his shoulder like it's reflexive. Gordon tries to hold on in return, arms limp as they slide down his back and his face buried into the other man's shoulder, shaking with the effort in holding back sobs. Bubby and Coomer both end up needing to help him stand. A gigantic, pointed tooth seeks to undo their progress as it darts out from beneath. It disregards the suit entirely and clips through the flesh of Gordon's ankle. He's not given even a second to acknowledge the pain before he's sent crashing back down. Tommy's beside him in an instant. Gordon tries to reach out for them. His hand only twitches in response. His entire body feels far too heavy. He... he doesn't think he can get back up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "This is it. I think we're fucked." Gordon turns away from the Team, from Benrey, trying to hide the tears that track through the grime on his face. He wants to apologize, wants his last words to be sorry, sorry for thinking he could do this, sorry for dragging them all down with him, sorry to Benrey that he couldn't get them home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Tommy moves his head onto their lap, holds his face between their shaking hands, leans in, and kisses him. They're crying too, tears falling onto his face and running down with his own, hands grasping at him desperately as they try to pull themself closer, close as possible, fingers wedging themselves between the plating to drag him in, to say goodbye.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon," Coomer speaks quietly, almost to himself. "We've got... all the passports, but... you never had yours with you, did you?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No... it's in the locker," Gordon gasps. His body feels even heavier.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No," Bubby stands up straighter. "I don't accept <em>this</em> death. <em>I</em> have a plan."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy catches on immediately, light returning to her eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon... do you think you can still get your passport if we go back?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "How can we go back, Tommy?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We can go back," Bubby asserts, and Gordon finally looks up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh, shit." The gun he collected from Darnold's lab, when Bubby disappeared and reappeared. Is <em>that</em> what it does? Could this work?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Everyone, I need space."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   Gordon trembles massively, falls back down twice, but never relents in getting back up on his own. Tommy's right beside him, slotting their fingers between his once he's standing. Coomer moves behind Bubby as he readies the gun. Gordon regards the two separately, exchanging unspoken words between both sets of eyes he gazes into.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Coomer. <em>You're both strong. You can and will.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Bubby. <em>You've both got this. I know you do.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "This'll be a little trippy," Bubby's voice wavers. He clears his throat before continuing. "It'll be a little fucked up, but we're going to have to take you back to the past."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Send us back, Bubby."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    One last person to look toward.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's thousands of eyes turn to them, too. All wide, pupils and colors of every variety, flickering in and out of this spatial plane, Gordon and Tommy swear some look almost... glassy. Gazes trailing up to their face, they both give Benrey one last once-over.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Later, Benrey."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They almost miss how the corners of their mouth twitch upward.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Peace."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Fuck.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They're actually back in Black Mesa, though it's pristine. No blood streaming in rivulets down the walls, no bodies or portions of them strewn across the floors, no aliens shambling towards them or lying in wait to maul anything that moves. No one else around, either.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon shifts to take a step forward, and his vision immediately blinks out. He stumbles and drops to his knees.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon!" Tommy kneels, biting back a wince. Her voice grounds him, and Gordon can't help but feel immensely grateful for not being alone in this.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm good. We're good."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "N- no, but- but if you're not, we can--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He stops them with an initially hurried kiss that Tommy drags out, and Gordon lets himself be lost, if only for a moment. A good lost, a different one than he feels here. Wherever here is now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm fine," he insists, and goes to stand. The hallway tilts left to right and back again, so he leans into the wall, which turns into him resting his entire weight against it. At least it's solid and feels real enough, not letting him fall through and be left to float in the void. Gordon's counting his victories where he can get them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He extends a hand to Tommy, who takes it gratefully and pulls herself up. She's clearly just as disoriented as he is, stumbling twice before Gordon slings an arm over her shoulders and shifts to hold her against him. Tommy gives him a weak grin, and he takes that as his cue to start walking. They shuffle down the hallway, and only when he's standing before the front desk does it fully click for Gordon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We're- we're back in Black Mesa. Holy shit, this really is the lobby. Nobody's here..." A pang spikes through his chest and comes to a stop in his stomach, prompting him to curl inwards and almost sending both he and Tommy back to the tile. Gordon gasps, inhales and exhales bringing familiar pain, but he rights himself, hand clumsily patting over Tommy's. They pull him into an impromptu embrace to steady the both of them, their face briefly sinking between Gordon's neck and shoulder. They're shaking. He knows it's not entirely due to exhaustion and exertion. He keeps them moving.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They walk further. A green burst of electricity. Gordon and Tommy smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yo."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hey, man." Gordon untangles from Tommy, stumbling when trying to look up at Benrey, careening over to the left wall from the right as the corridor continues to tilt and spin. Tommy follows on unsteady legs behind him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What're you doin', man?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon scrutinizes them closer when he swears he hears concern behind the put-on monotone. Two eyes, one mouth, normal number of teeth. Their demeanor makes it seem as though everything's fine, face holding that same apathetic expression from the first time they met. The first time they met...</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Nothin'. Goin'- goin' to the test chamber," Gordon huffs out a laugh.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh, yo," they break with an idle rotation of their teeth. "Wanna come back to my place, play some video games or somethin'?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon and Tommy's eyes go wide. This is the first time Benrey themself has brought up going and doing something outside of Black Mesa, something outside of Xen. Is this their way of saying they wanted to go home? That they want to go with them? Holy shit, are they good? Gordon beams up at them, Tommy holding a similar fondness in their own smile, before he snorts and speaks up again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Maybe after the shift, huh? We've got an important test to do today. We gotta--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Without warning, the hallway darkens, and eyes line the walls on every available space, countless mouths opening up from the floor, sharpened teeth gnashing and snapping.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Yo, you wanna </em><b><em>die</em></b><em>?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Gordon and Tommy look up and down the hall, taking it all in, then both turn right back to them. They're both afraid, there's no doubting it. The proof is in the pulse, both of theirs loud and clear. Benrey definitely saw Gordon flinch when a mouth opened beneath him, saw Tommy recoil when an eye's pupil narrowed on her, yet they continue to make the effort to stand before Benrey regardless. They haven't acted on their fear. <em>Maybe you don't have to act on yours, either,</em> that kind voice returns.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You're scared of me." They don't make it a question. It never was one.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah," Gordon speaks softly. "It's like I told you before. I didn't get to clear it up, though. I'm scared, but not entirely. I'm not scared of <em>you</em>. The you who got me away from the marines. The you who m- who learned how to make a tourniquet for me. The you who told me- the you told me that what I could or couldn't give wasn't important, that all that mattered to you was me... <em>god,</em> you will never know how much that meant." Gordon's voice trails off. Tommy picks it up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm scared, too. But... something that scares me worse? The thought of l- leaving you here, hurting you, or..." Tommy shuts their eyes tight before shaking their head and continuing. "When I think of you, I don't think of this. I think of the afternoons from... more than a decade ago, when I played o- when I played music over my shitty speaker, and would- would always be surprised when you remembered my favorites, remembered the words..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's 'cause they were my favorites, too." Benrey mumbles. Tommy tears up before blinking them back and continuing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I think of the you who'd pull me onto their lap and sing as long as I needed on my bad days, even when yours had almost been- almost definitely been worse. I think of the you who never let the experiments, the-- the isolation, the things Black Mesa did to you... I think of the you who never let all of that change who you alw- always were. This wonderfully caring, hilarious person who ended up being my best friend," she giggles to herself. "Who ended up being someone more."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's eyes widen as their face colors.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm not gonna give you some bullshit," Gordon interjects. "I'm not gonna say that this isn't you. It is, at least in part. But it doesn't have to be<em> everything</em> you are."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's gaze softens across all hundreds of sets of eyes. They sigh as every lid gently slides shut, and that's enough for Tommy and Gordon to close the distance. Gordon crosses the floor, bumping his forehead against the bridge of their nose and causing them to laugh through an exhale. Tommy slots in next to him, passing a gentle hand up and down their cheek, and the laughter returns. Benrey nudges forward minutely against their touches so as to not knock them over, but to get as close as possible. They can never be close enough.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I- I don't--" Benrey pauses, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. "I don't... get it. Why you won't- you won't shoot me, why you're still tryna get me to come back... why you- you actually <em>want</em> me to come back--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon interrupts them with a light laugh, then moves back to look at them. "Your answer for all the things you don't get? It's because we love you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey huffs out a chuckle at their words being turned back on them, and for a wonderful second, their brain actually lets them believe in what he's saying. Benrey lets it pass without protest so the three can stand amidst the silence that follows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Silence isn't a pleasant thing. Not here, at least. It means Gordon and Tommy are in a pocket of space displaced from time, unknowing of if they're even going to be able to get back. It means Benrey is a being of unfathomable capability, brought back down to a mortal plane as they're racked with guilt over what they've put their friends through, what they've yet to put them through. Somehow, though, in this fucked up little instance between gunfire and confusion and terror, they've found a place to pause, to hold each other close, to turn the silence into something good again. To turn the silence into Tommy humming absentmindedly, one of her and Benrey's favorites, just reveling in this moment of touch. To turn the silence into Gordon murmuring low, soothing words under his breath, gentle reminders of what they've already gotten through together. To turn the silence into Benrey rumbling contentedly, entirely focused on the warmth of the hands belonging to the people they cherish more than anything else.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You gotta go in and blow up your passport."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I know."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    None of them move.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Silence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Is Xen not, uh... bothering you right now?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Nah. 's gone quiet. Think it's confused. Tryna think of what it'll do next."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Mm."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Silence again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I don't know what's gonna happen. When you go back," Benrey exhales in a shuddering sigh. Gordon and Tommy press closer. "If I tell... if I tell you some things, can you just-- I'm not gonna make either of you promise, but, like... could you try to remember 'em?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon shakes his head. "No, I'm gonna promise you. I swear I'll remember."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy nods. "Yeah, no, we're not forgetting. No chance."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey smiles.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Silence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Didn't wanna hurt you. Hurt Bubby, Coomer. Never did. Hate that I did. Hate that... hate that I probably will again. I--" their voice breaks off. Gordon and Tommy stay quiet, let them take the time to piece their words together.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I wish I could've made it clearer. Made better sense 'bout... 'bout Xen, what was gonna happen when we got here. Feel like shit about how bad I scared both of you. 'm sorry. I- I'm sorry. Sorry... And what I said- I really want you to know that I did... I wanted to leave. Wanted to go home, the three of us, from the first time you asked me to."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Both Tommy and Gordon stiffen and step back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You... you said 'wanted'."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "'Wanted.' Past tense."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey's eyes dart out from under theirs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey. Benrey, look at us."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Their gaze returns.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We're not killing you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Mmh. I know you don't want to, but... y' might not have a choice. Xen's gonna be pissed, man. Pissed that I, and it, both'll be defenseless. Pissed I haven't killed any of you. Real, <em>real</em> fuckin' pissed I didn't even try to hold you both up here. It's gonna get loud, even louder than it has been. Gonna, uhh... gonna send in the big guns. Gonna make you have to go back on that no shooting rule, Gordo. Gotta start here." Benrey flashes an unconvincing smile, nodding over their shoulder in the direction of the hallway and drifting to one side to let them both pass.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon and Tommy say nothing as they move forward. Benrey follows behind. They all reach the locker room in this same silence. Benrey hangs back by the door, and Tommy waits just behind Gordon. He finds his name, fumbles with the latch, and... there's his passport, suspended just above the floor, bobbing up and down in a gentle, unheard rhythm. He turns back around.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon inhales carefully, picking out his next words decisively. "When I said we're not killing you, I <em>meant</em> that shit. I know <em>you</em> don't get to choose, but it's-- <em>we</em> do, and while we can, we're <em>going</em> to choose. While you can, you should, too. Even about the small things, the little shit you wouldn't think matters. It <em>all</em> matters, dude. It always has. And you're trying to tell me about what I can or can't do!" He turns away before they can respond.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm not," the minigun glows a dull red.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Going back," he steps into the locker.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "On what I said!" Gordon rears his arm back, and drives the barrels down. The passport bursts in a small explosion of black vapor, fluorescent lights all fizzling out just as it does. Each light is reduced to a dull glow that barely illumines the space, just enough to make out the benches, the doorways, each other.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Nothing's getting fired from this gun again," Gordon pants. "What it means- what it means to me, maybe to you and Tommy, behind not shooting it... that's worth more than what it was meant to do. What you're 'meant' to do, too. Whatever you've been told, what you will be told, you're th- you're worth more than anything you were 'meant' to do."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You were worth more from the first time you chose something for <em>you,"</em> Tommy adds on. "The first time you decided a song was your favorite, first time you- y-you picked what game you wanted to play, first time you told me what the colors you sang meant..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "...first time you saved a life..." Gordon murmurs before his voice returns. "You're more than what you're 'supposed' to do, and that's because choice opens fuckin'... infinite possibility! What you choose decides where you end up. There's thousands of answers, thousands of ends! And whenever, wherever I can, I'm gonna choose mine."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy, Gordon..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    From behind them, something faintly hisses and whirs. Gordon and Tommy turn when a sharp light cuts through the shade. A portal now yawns before them, greens and yellows painting the dull walls and sprawling over the tiled floors. Subconsciously, they both take a step towards it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yo."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They turn, and Benrey's standing in the doorway. All of them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon and Tommy are in Benrey's arms faster than their brains can process that they've even taken a step towards them. They're all trembling, all insistently nudging their faces against each other's shoulders, all grasping onto one another as though letting go means they'll slip from each other's fingers.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Can I ask you to remember something, too?" Tommy asks softly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Anything."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy cups their face in her hands, and pulls them against her lips. The contact doesn't feel sorrowful, doesn't feel like saying goodbye as Benrey would have anticipated it might. Instead, it feels like something beginning, something new, like watching a bud finally open and bloom, like watching the sun emerge from the horizon for a new day, like making a promise intended to be kept.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Please remember that I love you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey presses her palm to their lips.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Can you do the same?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy nods, not a second of hesitation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon doesn't have to say a single word more. Benrey turns, and he's already so close that it's easy to angle their face towards his and pull him in. Their first kiss may have been a desperate act, something done in the moment, taking a chance that was unclear if it'd be given again, but now, Benrey chooses. They choose to go slowly, thoroughly, like charting unknown waters, like mapping a landscape, like tracking the arcs the constellations follow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They separate, foreheads resting against each other's. Gordon doesn't need to ask, and neither does Benrey. They will remember that they are loved.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Reluctantly, and so, so slowly, they separate. Tommy takes Gordon's hand for the short walk to the portal, not missing how he trembles, how hard he's trying to stand tall. Once right in front of it, they turn to face each other, and nothing needs to be said for them to connect. The ropes that keep a boat tied to a dock. The salt spread over frozen roads. A solitary building still standing after an earthquake. Their kiss speaks of safety, of stability, of intense appreciation to just <em>be,</em> if to be means to be with each other.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon waves once before they go, with his right. A reminder of what he's sworn to. A reminder of choice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "See you back home."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Guys!" Gordon calls out, holding up his and Tommy's hands. "We did it!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>   "You did it, Gordon, Tommy!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I don't know what you both did, but I believe you've completely rewritten the course of history!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Those few words are the solitary moment the Team gets before the cavern groans to life, as though space and time are physical, and the beams that support it are bending and warping. The sound that comes with it is crushing and unbearable, unable to be dampened even as all their hands fly over their ears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey, again massive in size, somehow <em>even bigger</em>, has to crouch just to fit in the space, head between their knees, unmoving. Silent. The skeletons do the work for them in filling the air with noise. No longer shrinking in number, now double, <em>triple</em> the amount from before<em>,</em> singing shrill, piercing notes that make their ears all ring.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey!" Gordon shouts, breaking off into a laugh. "We're goin' home!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The skeletons screech and surge forward. Clawing hands, gnashing teeth, horrible scraping of bone on bone, The Science Team's guns flare to life in instant response, deafening sounds of gunfire bouncing off cavern walls as they mow them down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Overheat. Gordon hardly feels it anymore, flesh thoroughly scalded and nerves destroyed. He's not thinking about it. For future Gordon. No matter how fast he works, he can only target one at a time, and it's not long before he's completely overwhelmed. Thrown to the floor, he sees nothing but dull off-white of bone and muddled reds of liquid that laps up the sides of his face. He can hear nothing but Sweet Voice. It's nothing like when Benrey does it. It's stomach-churning, unnatural, terrifying. Red orbs, deep and saturated like blood, drift across his eyes. The red light of the storeroom. Benrey's whispered <em>"It's really... okay?"</em> as if they were in complete disbelief, as if being loved was so far removed from their list of possibility, Benrey still couldn't believe it even as they were in the midst of it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's already been running on empty, and the resumed fight's pushed him into the negatives, but when he thinks of them, he can keep moving. The gun pulls in the last oxygen from the growing vacuum to overheat, and Gordon throws the barrels up above him, three skulls cracking beneath the blow. That gives Gordon the idea to swing with the gun instead of opting for short punching movements. Soon, they're falling beneath him in droves. It doesn't seem like they're getting back up, but there's still so many that Gordon wonders if it really matters.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Green-tinted electricity sparks up wildly above Benrey, who still hasn't moved, face obscured, trembling and sending tremors turned to waves across the pool's surface.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Xen no longer speaks to Benrey with words, only ear-splitting cries and shrieks. Xen is furious. Xen won't give them a second chance to mess up anything else, so it renders them immobile, frozen in place by the invisible fingers of sound, raking and slithering along every point of pain they have. Benrey shrinks in on themself further.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Come on!" Gordon screams, noticing the skeletons were never going down at all. Just pretending. Just like before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A bolt hits a space not even a yard in front of him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon, it's not working!" Coomer calls over desperately. Gordon feels nauseous when his eyes land on the gash across his stomach.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Another bolt on the wall just behind him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tommy!" Gordon cries. He can't see them if they're there, can't hear them if they call back. Everything is tilting and bending and Gordon has no idea how he's still vertical.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey!" He can't see the motion, but Benrey flinches and is just barely able to peer at him over their folded arms.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I- I- I- I don't know what it's doing to you!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The gun isn't overheating anymore. Steam won't stop pouring from the vents. Gordon doesn't think it would fire anymore, even if he wanted it to.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I don't get it! But <em>you're</em> still there! It <em>hates</em> that you're still there! That's- that's why it's doing so much t- fuck!" Skeletons rise up from the waves, plunge through the suit, clawing rows and rows of scratches down his legs as Gordon kicks and crushes them beneath the HEV boots.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's putting up a fight because it knows <em>you</em> would fuckin' win! And you still can! I don't know how! But I know you- I know you can!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Can I?</em> Benrey can't fully weigh the words over the dreadful, aching press of pain over their entire body. How would they win? Xen's got them. They can't do anything like this. Anything but think. Think of what Xen’s going to do with them once they finish killing-- Benrey bites their tongue hard. Don't think of that, <em>god, </em>fuck, don't think of that. They will the thought away. It stays away. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Hold on. They changed that. No influence from Xen eating away at their brain, no graphic imaginations of all thousands of ways they could tear the four of them apart. That was all them. All their doing. All Benrey's choice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Choice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey chooses to remember getting Gordon away, carrying him to safety, holding him in their arms as though holding a portion of the world, a valuable thing with weight and gravity far beyond measure. They gain a little feeling back at the tips of their fingers. The skeletons stop diving and clawing at the Science Team.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey chooses to remember Tommy tending to their wounded palm. The gentle pressure, applied so carefully, and the way they guided them out of the dim confines of Black Mesa and into the open, bright sprawl of the world outside. They're able to roll their shoulders and let the tension in their back go. The skeletons stop singing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey chooses to remember the storeroom just before the last reactor, how Tommy and Gordon welcomed them into their arms as naturally as taking in air, even though they couldn't have known what lie ahead, it didn't matter. <em>Benrey</em> had been all that mattered. Keeping them close. Keeping them all together all in the hopes that they could go home together. They can feel the stiffness in their legs seeping away. The skeletons stop moving.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Benrey!" Gordon shouts up, voice sounding louder than before. Now able to turn and look at him, Benrey finds it's because he's right at their side, hand gently resting on their leg and fixing them with a patient, soft gaze.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon? Gordon, you have to come back!" Bubby cries, both he and Coomer taking cover behind a stalagmite, both needing to hold Tommy back from rushing out and joining Gordon. "The strikes are picking up-- you have to get out of the open!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I can't yet! I won't!" Gordon turns his attention back to Benrey. "I have no idea what it's fucking... put you through. I don't know anything! About any of this! But I know what you told me. Something I promised to remember. You remember yours?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey finds themself nodding even as Xen erupts and deafens them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What was it? Repeat it back to me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey takes a deep, steadying breath before all their eyes turn to his.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I love you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon is struck.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Waking up in untold amounts of pain should not be as regular an occurrence as it's become. <em>Okay Gordon, go down the list. Five senses.</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Taste.</em> His tongue both feels and tastes like he's licked a grill-top clean, with a fun background kick of blood. Yeah, alright, that's about enough of taste.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Smell.</em> The scent in the air isn't much of an improvement. It smells like something's burning, something plastic, something metal, something like flesh. It also smells like ozone, like rust, like blood.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Hearing.</em> He tries to make out anything beyond the piercing ringing in his ears. He's not successful. He'll just have to come back to hearing later. Hopefully.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Touch.</em> Gordon feels like he’s stuck his entire body into a wall socket amplified by a multiplier of a thousand. Fuck it, a thousand and one. Point being- <em>everything</em> fucking hurts. Beyond that, he doesn't feel himself submerged partially beneath the cavern's pool like he anticipates. Hand cooperating, though only in quick, twitching motions, Gordon sweeps his hand out, running over... whatever it is he's lying on top of now. There's no sense of touch through the gloves, something he's painfully aware of, but he can still feel solidity, and what he touches now is not the firm, unyielding stone that lies beneath the pool's surface. It's something much softer, something with give beneath his hand. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He revisits hearing when prompted by the sound of a hushed, wavering voice. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    "Gordon?"</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    Sight.</em> Using the last modicum of strength he has, Gordon finally opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is Tommy, arm reaching down and thumb lightly running over his cheek as they bite their lip and try not to cry. He tries to speak their name, but all that leaves his lips is a groan that cracks in pitch. Tommy's thumb stutters in its soothing path, tears spilling over while they tremble harder. The next thing he sees is Bubby and Coomer in each other's arms and eyes wide as they search Gordon's face. Their tension visibly seeps away when he manages a weak grin, and all three cry out in relief and move to lay against him, taking care not to press any substantial weight on his body. Then, he sees Benrey, leaning over all of them, <em>shielding</em> them, Gordon realizes, from the continued, frenzied strokes of green electricity that bounce off their back and pellet the walls in a ricochet. This is the first time he's seen them cry, Gordon thinks, massive tears narrowly missing the four of them and crashing into the pool as they tremble. Gordon trembles with them, now noting he and the Science Team are all resting in the extended palm of their hand.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Ben--" Gordon wheezes. His lungs feel as ruined as everything else does, this scorched, singed feeling that makes speaking feel impossible.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon? H- holy-- <em>holy shit..." </em>Their tears fall faster as Benrey curls in on themself, trying unsuccessfully to keep back sobs. Their muffled whimpers hurt Gordon worse than being struck by lightning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "H- hey, 's... okay..." Gordon mumbles, mouth refusing to work the way he wants it to. He takes weighty inhales before trying again. "How- how'd you get--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I chose," Benrey murmurs, flashing Gordon a teary smile that immediately makes him want to return it, and so he does. He chooses to. He doesn't need to ask anything more.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They all sit close to each other, that same wonderful silent communication from the cliffs returning anew as they each marvel at one another. Words of awe, of <em>"God, you're so strong,"</em> in light fingertips that trace over scars old and new, that graze over bandages and bruises. Words of disbelief bordering on incredulous, of <em>"How in the fuck are we still here?"</em> through the nervous chuckles and breathy giggles, through the eyes staring down at hands a part of the same body. Words of infinite affection and delight, of <em>"This couldn't keep us apart, nothing else will,"</em> through the hand that smooths down Gordon's hair, through the fingers that trace soothing circles over Benrey's palm, through the shaky hand that rises to Tommy's cheek and stays there, through the short, sweet kiss Bubby and Coomer pull one another into.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Suddenly, the cavern grows several tints brighter in a second. Benrey looks up, and joins the rest of the Team in staring up at a bright, white orb sprawling out from the cavern's ceiling. A strange, thunderous clicking emanates from it, like the horrible snapping of gigantic mandibles belonging to some colossal insect. Something strange bleeds into Benrey's gaze before they shake their head, regarding the four in their hand with an odd, sad smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "See you back home."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's words repeated back to him open an unexpected chasm in his stomach.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wait--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A cyclopean eye opens on their chest, edges dilating and growing sharper and boxier before it's become fully rectangular. It blinks, and when the eye reopens, it's a portal, open and waiting. Benrey waits no further in pulling their hand to their chest and sending them all through.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings in rough chronological order (Some warnings may repeat at other points in the chapter): non-detailed mentions of a breakdown, brief, non-detailed talk of death; brief mentions of blood and injury, very brief mention of transphobia (it's one sentence and is only implied).</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>    Gordon is pretty sure he's experienced all five stages of grief in this Chuck-E-Cheese's.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He's not even entirely sure what he's grieving. A time where he wasn't plagued by the deaths of hundreds, maybe? Would be nice to have this mental debacle at home, he thinks, buried under every cover he owns, after eating every still-edible thing in his kitchen, and sleeping until his body physically can't anymore, then finding a way to sleep even more after that. At least he's gotten to have the eating part taken care of, and really, lukewarm pizza’s never tasted better. See? He's <em>accepted</em> that he's currently eating in a Chuck-E-Cheese's after being on an alien planet for what ended up being <em>days</em> instead of hours unknowing if one of the people he's in love with is alive or not.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's forehead thuds onto the table. Who's he kidding? He hasn't gotten past stage one. Or he has, and he's just come back around to it. Can you even do that? Considering everything else that's happened to him, experiencing the five stages in a never-ending, hellish Groundhog Day-esque loop isn't the weirdest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He's pretty sure curling up in a fetal position under one of the booth's tables and repeating "not here, not real" through a brief panic attack counts as denial. Then, getting so worked up over a round of skee-ball that he ended it by launching the rest of his rounds into the ball pit likely lined up with anger. Telling himself that if he just acts like everything's fine, eating shitty pizza and playing every game in the building, Benrey will be fine too, showing up through a portal, maybe even collapsing for a hot minute like Gordon had... that had to have been bargaining. Depression was definitely the breakdown he had in the bathroom, back sliding down a garish purple stall onto similarly colored tiles as he sobbed, sobbed out way more from the near weeks- <em>weeks-</em> that passed than he thought he would, tears only able to stop when Tommy found and joined him, then the both of them working together to calm each other down afterwards.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon just assumed he'd be at acceptance by now, figuring he would get to round it out, complete the set. He sits at their table, paper plate still piled high with pizza and cup clutched in his returned right hand that he is <em>not</em> going to think about the full ramifications of right now. It's filled nearly to the brim with Sunkist, which Gordon thought was a funny choice in the moment, but he realizes now that he won't be able to stomach soda for years, if even that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I- I don't think you'll... you'll get to that last one for, uh... for a while," Tommy murmurs, sitting in the chair next to his.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon picks his head up to rest his chin on the table. "You mean acceptance? Yeah. Think- I think so too. You can read minds?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I really just-- I was trying to see if you were conscious or not, honestly," Tommy takes Gordon's cup and sets it aside. "But... yeah, I can. I don't like doing it often. Huh, you... you ended up being more okay with that than I thought you would be."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Maybe I <em>am</em> at acceptance," Gordon chuckles dryly. "I mean, kinda- kinda figured you weren't human. Then I find out Mr. Coolatta's your dad, and it, y'know, it lines up. I wouldn't be surprised if you told me there's a lot more I don't know about."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "There is," Tommy admits, and is relieved Gordon only nods patiently in reply. "But it's- it's not all that important. We've got time. We'll- we can talk about it later."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon smiles, a small, tired smile, and stares down at the table. "Yeah. We've got time."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy leans over, gives him a kiss on the bridge of his nose that makes Gordon laugh around an exhale, and they both slump back in their chairs. It falls quiet save for distant arcade sounds and the tinny music playing over the ceiling speakers.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Do you wanna talk? About them?" Gordon starts, soft and unsure.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I--" Tommy's breath hitches, so she takes slow, careful breaths, and tries again. "I don't know wh- what to... what to say. I... I feel like if they were going to- to <em>die,</em>" she shudders at the word and blinks back tears. "They would've said something more. Would've- w- would've found a way to keep us longer... right?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Sunkist pads across the floors from someplace behind them, coming up in between Tommy and Gordon to lay his entire head over her lap, and Tommy welcomes him gratefully. Gordon runs his fingers through the soft, golden fur in wavy patterns.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Dad- Dad knows about the three of us. He... helped you when I asked, when I got up one night and begged him to let you get out of Black Mesa alive. If he wouldn't let you die because we were-- then- then maybe--" Tommy stares at their hands. Sunkist nudges more insistently into their lap.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah. Maybe," is all Gordon says. Is all he can say, really. He knows he can't promise anything, can't assure them of the affirmative or the negative. All he can do is what she can do. Wait.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy shakes their head, and nudges Gordon's shoulder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We have this place 'till ten. Do you- would you- you want me to kick your ass at Frogger?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon barks out a laugh, nearly taking himself out with the subsequent round of coughs and wheezes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Y'know what? Fuck yeah."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon proceeds to get his ass handed to him at Frogger. Coomer and Bubby both return with massive armfuls of tickets Gordon is almost one hundred percent sure they didn't acquire through... traditional means. The underpaid staff seem none too eager to confront them on it, though, their group who looks like they've only narrowly avoided death with enough blood stained across their clothes and bodies to prove it. They end up having more than enough tickets to net each of them a prize off the top shelf. They come away from the prize counter with an off-brand Easy Bake Oven, a mini air hockey table, a friendship bracelet kit, and a huge pillow shaped like a piece of gum. Then, they nearly clear out the entire lower counter to boot. They’re now in possession of enough spider rings and sticker packets to sink a ship. They pick up jump ropes, too, one for each of them. Tommy smiles when they count five.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Things are winding down. Coomer's still insistent that he and Bubby play every game in the building, and Bubby's just as keen on doing so. Tommy's making quiet conversation with the few employees left to take the late shift, likely apologizing for the inconvenience, Gordon figures. They're just a good person like that, he thinks, and Gordon smiles to himself. At some point, he finds himself curled up around the Double Bubble pillow in a quiet booth, just far enough away from the cabinets and noise, but not far enough to where he can't see the Science Team, hear their voices. It's only seconds before he's drifting off. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon doesn't dream, but the last thing he thinks of before sleep clouds over him is Benrey.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon jumps awake, the sickening, familiar grasp of teleportation tugging uncomfortably at his atoms as he's disassembled and reassembled, though where he ends up is not where he expects. Not the reactor in Black Mesa. Not Xen. It... looks like the front entrance of a movie theater. And Mr. Coolatta is here. Alright.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Ah, Dr. Freeman. I hope you enjoyed the party?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah, it was great. It was the best five dollar... pepperoni and cheese pizza... I've ever had," Gordon rambles. He's sure his words aren't making any sense, but he's honestly far too tired to care. He's barely conscious, just wanting to find Tommy, lie down, ideally with them, and sleep for at <em>least</em> twenty-four more hours. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "And, uh- look, I'm real tired. You know? You get that post- post-eatin'... sleepin'... goin'. I love a good nap. At my... house." Gordon notices his vision's a little darker at the corners. Probably just the low lighting. Probably fine.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You, certainly, wouldn't want to miss the... movie, now, would you?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Is Tommy- Tommy there? Tommy waitin'?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yes, Dr. Freeman, now if-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon cuts him off by skirting around him and moving through the lobby.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Which way--" The room begins tilting, and so does he. Gordon careens so hard to his right that he loses footing completely, hand trailing limply down the wall trying to halt his fall. Mr. Coolatta does that for him instead, a single hand on his shoulder preventing face from meeting carpet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I... appreciate your enthusiasm, but being indisposed before the movie can even begin seems foolish, wouldn't you... think?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Right. Yes. Sorry, th- this is-- good, this is fine, I f--" The hall grows longer, then shorter- objects look far away, then they look much closer. Gordon thinks he must black out for a second, and when his vision returns, he finds something even more surprising than being teleported mid pizza nap: Mr. Coolatta, with his left arm over his shoulders, carefully leading the two of them down the hall. Gordon almost wants to shove off of him, insist he can walk on his own, but he's too tired to feel anything <em>but</em> tired, and more sure than not that he actually <em>can't</em> walk on his own, so he chooses not to look this gift horse in the suit jacket.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wh- huh. Thanks, man," is what Gordon settles on instead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Mr. Coolatta only nods, and they shuffle-walk in silence. <em>C'mon, ice-breakers, small talk, light conversation--</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> "Can you tell me anything... about Benrey?" Okay, not exactly light conversation, but something Gordon's been dying to ask about-- he winces at the mental wording. God, he hates that phrase right now. The speech the G-Man had given him on a Xen hellevator was... vague and frustrating, to put it simply, and maddeningly unhelpful and creating more questions than answers, to put it elaborately. Gordon's hoping for <em>actual</em> answers this time around.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "The one you call... Ben-rey... is on-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I know: a need to know basis, and I don't need to know. You've told me this. I don't need to know, except I do. They're--" Gordon's more flustered than he figured he would be trying to explain everything they are. "They're important."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You are inquiring about whether... or not they are alive."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon nods quickly through affirmative babbling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You will have... answers soon enough, though I will say these events have ended much... differently than anticipated. The fight was concluded when Xen... rejected them." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's stomach falls from his body and straight through the polished black tiled floors.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wh- what do you mean 'rejected'?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm sure there is more to be said for another time, Dr. Freeman, but for now, I believe it best to--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Dad? Gordon!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy all but jogs from the doorway of a theater to the both of them, immediately slotting themself on his right. Gordon sighs and relents, relieved just to not be carrying even a fraction of his own weight anymore, head lolling onto Tommy's shoulder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What's- what hap- happened, why were you holding onto him?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Mr. Freeman was having repeated... trouble, walking to the theater on his own, so I took it upon myself to... see him the rest of the way there."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy flashes the two of them a brilliant grin. Gordon's body feels a bit less heavy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Thank you, dad. Gordon? Can I- is it okay if I help, too?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon only nods weakly in answer. Tommy swallows and tries not to let their worry for him encroach on their lungs any further, tries taking deep, even breaths.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Okay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Truthfully, the last place on earth Tommy Coolatta wants to be right now is their favorite theater. They want to be at their place or Gordon's, taking a long, long shower and crashing onto a bed to sleep the next few days away. But they know of their father's insistence about keeping in line with tradition. If he even relents and lets them leave, he'd return within the hour to take them back to finish the party. He's guilty on having a loose grasp, a <em>very</em> loose grasp, on how time passes for human beings. How long it takes for them to heal.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Now, sitting next to Gordon in the plush theater seats, his hand woven in theirs as he tries hard to keep awake, Tommy is painfully aware of how long it'll take for a certain human in their life to heal.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You remember what everyone wanted?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hm? Oh. Yeah, yeah: soda-- did Coomer even say which kind? Pretty- pretty sure he just said soda. Uh... popcorn, <em>extra butter</em>," Tommy laughs at the emphasis. "Aaand Milk Duds. I'm gonna remember that you like 'em." Gordon promises with a grin, sleepy and fond, and Tommy's thinking she may be more than a little in love. He's not entirely sure if she's genuinely asking, or giving him a not-entirely-subtle test for head trauma. Could be both, he thinks, but when she kisses his cheek, and pulls back with a lovely, exhausted smile, Gordon can't think of much else anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Will... you be okay going to t- heading to the bathroom while I get snacks? Are you okay on your feet?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon slowly peels himself from their side, taking a few experimental steps forward. Still hurts to shit and he doesn't feel as steady as he'd like to be, but the lobby isn't twisting and bending like it was before, so he thinks he can manage. He opens his mouth to speak and yawns instead, so he gives them a slow nod and a thumbs up. Tommy laughs, leaves him a parting kiss, and heads to the counters.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    As Gordon steps in, hand extended to a stall handle and back still to the sinks, he realizes how much he's actually dreading meeting his reflection in the mirror. Gordon's never been one to be especially bothered by how he looks, but now, it's undeniable that the dread lining his stomach is entirely due to the fear that what he'll see will be too different than what he remembers. Fear that he'll either be changed by the shape and cut of his wounds, or worse, that his eyes won't look like his own anymore, clouded over by what the last twelve days have wrought, by the hundreds of deaths he's seen, been a part of, <em>couldn't stop.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon takes several rounds of deep breaths, counts down from twenty, and turns.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Man, I look like shit." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The sight makes him queasier than he thought it would. Gordon's not appalled, just... tired. Exasperated, maybe. At what specifically, he's unsure. Blood, both his and not, is layered thoroughly over the HEV suit, which is just another bullet point Gordon's adding to the copious list of reasons to burn it the second he can. If it can't be burnt, he's going to straight Jumanji that shit, throw it in a river, and hope no one follows the plot, hopes no one will be fated to find and be burdened by its inherent misfortunes, the weight it carries beside the physical, even if they don't know it. Deep scratches cover his skin, sure that the ones underneath Tommy's bandaging don't look much better, skin around them all an angry, bright pink. His hair looks absolutely disgusting, and that's probably what bothers Gordon most. His hair is one of the few aspects of his appearance he spends the longest on, takes the most pride in. Now, parts of it are burnt and uneven, tangled thoroughly amidst itself, clumps of blood both alien and human weighing it down, looking as fucked up and miserable as Gordon feels. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Finally, Gordon focuses on his eyes. They're still his, to his complete relief, but at the same time, they've changed, all in the smallest of ways. The bags beneath his eyes are much heavier, much deeper and darker, but Gordon finds that fitting, he thinks, with how much baggage he carries now. The light's gone from them, but he's seen this before, isn't surprised at the sight. Still, he can't help but feel a pang of worry. They seem... darker. Something intense sits behind them now, even through the clear exhaustion. He subconsciously leans in closer, trying to figure out just what that something is, but a blur of blue emerging from the mirror interrupts him, makes him stumble back until he trips and falls.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You're using my mirror!" The- the voice, <em>their</em> voice, please, please don't let him be imagining that it's--</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Benrey?"</em> Gordon rasps.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey takes closer stock of the scene before them, and their teasing tone immediately gives way to concern.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Clumsy- clumsy man do a slip and fall?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Wh--" Gordon wheezes, never happier to hear such a dumb arrangement of words.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They're about to spew more bullshit before Gordon throws himself back onto his feet and falls rather than steps forward into their arms. They catch and hold on to him, laughing into his shoulder as they press closer.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"God,</em> Gordon..." The words are reverential, disbelieving, as though they're just as surprised to be here.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You asshole," Gordon huffs, anger completely unconvincing. "You scared the shit out of us. I thought- we didn't know if y--" his words break off in a waver, biting his bottom lip as he nudges his face against their neck. They stand in comfortable yet confounded silence.Benrey's <em>here.</em> Gordon's going to make sure they're never anywhere else.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon? You- everything still okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tom- Tommy!" Gordon's voice being splintered by a half-sob is enough to send Tommy sprinting in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon! Are y--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yo."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    She drops everything in her arms, popcorn and soda and Milk Duds sprawling over the bathroom tiles, so she can hold Benrey instead, lying their head against the top of Benrey's, elated tears running down their helmet, and Benrey holds her, holds Gordon, holds onto the world, contained between the two of them. Contented, blissful silence follows, only interspersed with murmured words of <em>'You're here, you're here.'</em> There's an extended pause before Benrey speaks up again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I- I hurt you," they shudder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No, <em>you</em> didn't. Xen did."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Same thing," they mutter, barely above a whisper.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No, no. No fucking way you just said what I think you said," Gordon pulls apart just enough to stare them in the eye. "'You' isn't where you come from, man. It never is! Fuck, if that applied to me, I wouldn't be <em>Gordon!</em> I would be the person my dad still thinks I am, I'd still use the name he thinks is mine! But I don't! I left, I built myself up to be exactly who I am, and you did, too! You're so unbelievably affectionate, you're funny as all hell, and I'm fucking in <em>love</em> with you! Tommy is, too! We want you to come <em>home.</em> I've never felt closer to home than I've felt with the both of you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Pretty cheesy, man," Benrey chuckles, low and raspy, turning their face back into the hug. The waver in their voice gives them away completely.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's true, though," Gordon insists around a grin.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy nods slowly beside them before she gathers her words.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's like I t- I told you before. I never, never saw everything that happened on Xen as... as everything, or... or <em>anything</em> you were. If life was only ever about where you came from... it'd be pretty- p- pretty fucking boring." They all laugh at that. "Luckily, though, it's not like that at all. It's so much more. <em>You're</em> so much more. I'm just... I'm so happy you'll get to understand that now. You'll get to see it for yourself. We have all the time in the world. There's no two people I w- I would rather spend it with."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm... I'm still so sorry. For everything. Everything on Xen," Benrey rasps, speaking around sniffles. They shake harder, worming their way further into Tommy and Gordon's arms.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy shakes their head fervently. "It doesn't- doesn't matter--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Yes,</em> it does," Benrey stops them. "You were-- I scared you. Hurt you. Maybe more than- more than you can get over. More than you can fix, or deal with. If... if you need time apart, I'd get that. You just need to lemme know."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"God,</em> no," Gordon gasps. "I- I don't want to be alone right now. Ever again, now that I'm thinking about it, actually. Tommy's coming back with me. Even Coomer and Bubby- they don't have any- anywhere to go, y'know? They really only ever lived in Black Mesa. You're all so important to me, so we're gonna be- we're sticking together. That includes you," he finishes softly, pressing a gentle kiss to their forehead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey sighs, sinking back into their arms. "...'kay, but... you ever need space, need me to step back, I will. Can't force yourself to get better, to be comfortable. So don't try to. Please."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I won't," Gordon promises. Tommy nods alongside him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Thank you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They finally separate. They all help clean up what spilled, laughing to each other with dumb jokes and quips that have no place being as funny as they are, though they could all just be exhausted to the point where everything's hilarious. Tommy says she'll go back to replace the snacks, asks Benrey to help Gordon get back to the theater. Honestly, she could just focus on each item separately, rewind their clocks, return them to a pre-spilled state, but that sounds like way more work than it's worth right now, and Tommy doesn't entirely trust her ability to hold up after... everything.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    God, is Tommy tired. They reason with themself that they don't even need to sleep with as much frequency humans do, and that thought makes them hurt for Gordon a little bit more, but then they reason right back that they have every right to be tired. They want a bed, with an unreasonably massive, puffy comforter, ridiculously fluffy pillows, little lavender sachet beneath them, the whole nine yards. Tommy would also gladly sleep on a bundle of dirty t-shirts in between an Applebee's dumpster and a brick wall. The duality of man.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy's not even sure why she's so fussed about the snacks, not entirely sure if the effort in just walking there and back will be lost on the two older men or not. Come to think of it, she's not entirely sure why anything is still mattering to her at all, after everything they've all been through. How things in her head still have the capacity to matter, how anything feels like anything anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    But when she returns to the theater, and Benrey's fast asleep on Gordon's lap, and he's curled up around them tight, snoring softly against their back, Tommy knows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy knows why things still matter.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Surprise double chapter upload! Chapter 10 felt too much like a cliffhanger and I hate doing that, so I didn't! Probably one more chapter to go, maybe two depending on how much I have to say, and this story'll be done! Thank you so much to everyone who's offered words of encouragement and appreciation in the comments. They've meant so much! I wouldn't have been able to get this far without them. Seriously, thanks a ton. </p><p>I hope this chapter ends up being okay! I really like how I wrote the beginning, but everything else after didn't feel as strong to me. Still, I hope it holds up! I know it's also a good bit shorter than my normal chapter lengths, but I hope that's alright, too! I just didn't have anything else to add onto it, and I think I found a decent stopping point, so I stopped it! Heheh.<br/>Bye for now!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings for this chapter in rough chronological order: detailed descriptions of injury, semi-detailed talk of self-hatred, semi-detailed emetophobia, very brief mentions of blood.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This may be my most self-indulgent chapter yet. And that's saying something! All the ways the three of them are comforted are all the ways I'm comforted- warm showers, idle talk of favorite things, comfy clothes, good food, and all sorts of music. I hope it's still good, though! Hope all of my favorite things coming through in this chapter isn't too distracting or anything like that.<br/>Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div>
  <p>    Benrey has to clip past the front door to let them all in, Gordon's keys having been left behind in his locker. Once the lights are flicked on, Gordon's eyes rake over his living room. The slightly dusty frames along the wall, all holding photos of him and Joshua, the warm-colored throw pillows and blankets resting on his couch, the half-finished crossword on the coffee table... it's almost as though receiving visual confirmation that he's home, that they're really, truly out of Black Mesa, is enough for his body to finally give out and let itself rest. He nearly takes out a table lamp when he suddenly lurches forward.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey. Hey. Gordon," Benrey's speech is rapid fire as their hands grasp his shoulders.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gordon?" Tommy's voice wavers. Sunkist moves from their side to pace nervously. "Gordon, what's wr- what do you need? What's wrong?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon opens his mouth to speak but instead groans and falls to his knees. "I think I’m— I think I'm gonna pass out."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No, no, no- please don't? Don't do that, please?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "H- hold on, Gordon. Please, please stay with us."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>I'm not going anywhere,</em> he wants to say, but Gordon can only manage a weak smile in its place. Sunkist is pressed supportively at his right as soon as Tommy and Benrey get him to stand. They lead him to the couch, barely reaching it before Gordon collapses onto it rather than sitting. Coomer and Bubby file in after them and shut the door behind themselves, depositing their prize counter bounty on the kitchen table. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon still holds what Mr. Coolatta gave him in a vice grip. <em>'Consider it a... party favor,'</em> were the words that accompanied it before a portal opened, a portal Gordon hopes was his last, and they were all sent through. It took Gordon longer than he'd care to admit to recognize what it was: a part that looks like it came from an HEV port, a part he only hopes does what he thinks it will. Gordon grunts, words refusing to form in his exhausted brain, limply holding his arm in the air until Tommy catches on and takes the gear from him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Do you-- you want the suit off, right?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon couldn't have nodded faster.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Coomer ends up needing to support most of his weight once Gordon stands, and Tommy works to fit the notch of the gear into several slots between the plating. Benrey and Bubby pull the parts away until the suit is entirely, blissfully removed, laying all around their feet in pieces. Gordon is left feeling unbelievably light, like he'll float off if he doesn't hold on to something, to someone, and so he goes limp in Coomer's arms. He's warm, and his arms feel like security, like friendship, like home. <em>Fuck,</em> he's home. He's home with them. He's home with family.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Do you consider us family, Gordon?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Oh. He said that out loud.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I- yeah," Gordon admits, swallowing before he continues. "Yeah, I... I do. I've never- I didn't-- I know we don't- we don't really know each other all that well. It was barely even two weeks, and I'm sorry if that's--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Coomer stops Gordon by wrapping his arms tighter around him, a strong, steady hand passing soothingly over his back, and... Gordon can feel it. Every minute shift in pressure, the warmth that travels through the undersuit, the gentle path back and forth Coomer's hand tracks... it makes tears well up while he tries insistently to hold them back.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm so glad to hear you say so," Coomer says softly, and his voice is so gentle, so sincere, that Gordon can't help but cave and sob into his shoulder, arms pressing tighter around the other man as he carries on the comforting motions of his hand. Then, Bubby's at their right, looping his arms around them with such insistence that it only serves to make Gordon cry harder. Sunkist weaves himself between their legs, and Benrey and Tommy are seconds behind him. Now, Gordon is completely surrounded, engulfed in love. Everything that happened be damned, this singular moment makes Gordon feel as though he has to be one of the luckiest people in the world. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    To love and be loved in return.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They had to have been standing that way for a long while, Gordon thinks, but when he pulls away and sees each of their eyes as red and teary as he imagines his own to be, he doesn't think any of them are going to complain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "So... how we feelin'?" Gordon asks, clearing his eyes as he steps back. "You guys wanna eat first or shower?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"God</em>, please, shower," Bubby replies immediately, holding out the ends of his lab coat away from his body. "And someplace to burn this. I don't want to so much as <em>look</em> at proper lab wear again. I’m wearing loose fabrics and open-toed shoes until I fucking keel over.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Fair,” Gordon snorts. He turns to move down the hall and show him to the bathroom, but his knees immediately buckle beneath him. His arms are around Benrey and Tommy's shoulders before he's even processed them moving over to him at all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Sorry," he mumbles, head turned down. "I thought... thought I could do it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy lightly angles Gordon's face up by his jaw, making sure he's looking into their eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Don't be upset. Don't apologize." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They've kissed several times at this point, but here, back in Gordon's home, the way Tommy kisses him now, free of the background thought of wondering if this would be their last, if they were stealing a chance that would or wouldn't be given again, it feels entirely different. So much more personal and intimate. It makes Gordon's heart feel as though it swells in his ribcage.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "O-oh... okay," is the response Gordon stammers out. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy laughs, and that swelling feeling only grows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Bubby and Coomer both insist that Gordon goes first- it's his home they're staying in, after all, but on top of that, none of them are sure he's going to be able to keep vertical much longer, and Gordon can't really argue. When Tommy and Benrey lead him in and flick on the light, Gordon never would've imagined that the sight of his bathroom could make him want to cry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You, uh..." Benrey trails off, suddenly seeming incredibly anxious and fidgety. "You gonna be okay? By yourself? I- you get through all that, then you die in the shower, 's a pretty... pretty dumb way to go out," they murmur, but their tone doesn't match the joking nature the words hold. "We could- could stay in here. If you want. Just hang out on the counter."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Oh, <em>that's</em> what they're nervous about. They're worried that their suggestion would be taken poorly. But to Gordon, their consideration means everything, just in the fact that they've gone and thought of something he hasn't, in how they always seem to be two steps ahead when thinking of him, thinking of what he needs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I would... really, really appreciate that," Gordon rasps. "Can I-- man, I wanna ask, but I don't want it to be- I don't want it to come off as something- I really don't wan--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Do you want to shower together?" Tommy cuts off his nervous rambling.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "If- if you're comfortable, and you don't mind. I don't really know if I can stand on my own, and I don't-- I don't wanna be alone right now." Gordon sniffles. "Even if you're there-- even if you're sitting like... a foot away, it's like- god, my brain is fucking awful. No object permanence here, I guess! Just--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Feel the same way," Benrey interjects. "Don't wanna... don't wanna not see you and Tommy, e- even for..." Their words trail off after their voice cracks.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Woul- I wouldn't have mentioned it if it wasn't okay with me," Tommy speaks up after a pause. "I wouldn't f- feel right, leaving you alone. I'd be too worried. I would probably sit right outside the door, and- and, um... keep checking in every couple seconds," she admits around a dry chuckle. Benrey nods in silent agreement.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's relieved he has enough clean towels for all of them. The three are quiet helping each other with their clothes, each wrinkling their noses when they're off and immediately tossing them in the can next to the bathroom sink. The undersuit ends up needing to be cut away since Gordon can't lift his right arm too far from his body, and once it's opened, Benrey and Tommy gasp and fall unbelievably nauseous. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Bright red burns all across his skin, like gnarled tree branches, like broken threads of a spiderweb, like the arcs of lightning, reminding them that Gordon was <em>severely electrocuted-</em> how had that slipped their minds? Horrible, deep scratches peppered heavily across his chest, his stomach, his back, sure that it continues all up and down his legs, too, only broken up by the many deep-colored bruises or smears of blood,almost<em> all </em>his own, hardly an unmarred stretch of skin anywhere. His right shoulder has a dreadfully swollen lump that misshapes its entirety, <em>very </em>clearly broken. The part of his arm they can see just above his prosthetic is most worse off, with deep, <em>deep</em> burns, and they're both horrified when imagining the full extent of what lies underneath.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Gordon,"</em> Tommy intones, completely breathless. "Hos- <em>hospital.</em> Holy shit, we... we have to go to the hospital! How c- why wouldn't y- why didn't you say anything?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Kinda- kinda thought I might... y'know."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "...you telling us that you thought you could've <em>dropped dead</em> before we'd get you help?" Despite the anger their words carry, Benrey's expression holds none of it, lower lip losing color from where it's pinned beneath their teeth.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"Fuck,</em> Gordon..." they mumble, voice muffled once they bury their face in their hands.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "N- no, I'm sorry! Fuck, it's not l- that's not all it was! The- the arm thing--" Gordon cuts himself off after briefly taking in his new right arm. "I genuinely didn't know it was this bad. I stopped feeling it after, what was i- I think the fifth overheat? That, uh... that gun really fucked my arm up," he tries to laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a broken-off sob. Gordon knows full well that that's not the only thing the gun fucked up. "And the mor-- pretty sure the suit got me fucking addicted, honestly... but the morphine the suit pumped me with? I swear, I didn't feel over half of..." he gestures to his entire body. "Jesus, I was just completely running on adrenaline and morphine, huh?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "When that <em>wore off</em>, Gordon..." Tommy's hands clench into fists at their sides. "Why didn't you say <em>something?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Seeing that hurt, that same bitter ache and confusion from the car explosion, it makes Gordon want to turn tail, run straight out his front door, force his exhausted body to walk until it drops, but he doesn't. He stays. He feels he owes them that much.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You're... you're right. What you're thinking... it's right," Gordon ends in a shuddering breath, taking in a few slow pulls of air as he gathers his thoughts. " I didn't-- d- didn't care. I didn't care about what happened to me. I didn't, and don't, think I matter as much as either of you, and... honestly? I thought Xen was gonna be it. Thought I was gonna be the next body in an HEV suit, like- like the ones from the survey team..." he trails off, following memories prompting a horrible chill. Gordon wraps his arms around himself as his vision blurs. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "You have every right to be upset with me. And if- if this changes... anything..." Gordon can't hold back the tears now rolling down his cheeks at the thought, but he has to get this out, has to tell them what he feels they need to hear. "I under... I understand c- completely." He knows he's not exactly convincing, but it's all he can get out. He sits on the rim of his tub, shaking and gripping his arms tight enough for the skin beneath his fingertips to turn white.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Stop," Benrey suddenly pleads, barely above a whisper. "We're not going anywhere. We're fucking <em>scared</em> for you, man. Feels real, real bad knowing and- and then seeing how much y--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    They can't continue, crumpling to the floor in front of him and wedging their head and arms onto Gordon's lap, their hand grabbing insistently for his. Tommy sits on his left, taking his other hand, thumb barely grazing over his cracked knuckles as she uses her other to wipe at her eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I know how you feel, and I never... expected it t- to... to change right away. It's like Benrey said: it's work and time. It just feels... awful, feeling like I can't do anything to- to help you see it how we do, to help you see how important you are. Th- the anger comes from not understanding. From being scared, from feeling powerless. I'm just... scared, Gordon."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I'm sorry," Gordon rasps. "I'm so sorry. I'm--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    He cuts himself off in a shuddering breath, slumping onto Tommy's shoulder. They sit there until their tears and trembling have mostly subsided before Tommy's breathing evens out enough for them to speak.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We still h- we still need to get you to a hospital."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What would I even say, Tommy? About how I wound up like this? Would I tell 'em that I work for- <em>used</em> to work for- a highly classified government facility that's now defunct due to alien invasion? Even if I made up some bullshit, the- the people on staff... they'd all be fucked, wouldn't they? They'd be watched like I know we're gonna be. Those people have lives, man. Families, friends, partners."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "We- we can't just <em>leave</em> you like this, though, Gordon, we--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "What about Benrey?" Gordon replies, breathing growing weighty and strained as he continues. "Someone sees them, reports that when Black Mesa comes knocking, and they-" he's wheezing and trembling now. "Black Mesa hears that they're alive, finds out that- that they're out and-- and they've- and they come, and <em>thh</em>- take--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Okay. Okay, Gordon. Breathe with us, please," Tommy asks gently.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "C'mon, man. Don't worry about me," Benrey nudges his knee.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I have to worry! They can’t take you back! God, I can't even imagine what they'd do to y--"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon abruptly heaves, barely having time to lunge forward and lean over the toilet bowl before emptying an empty stomach. Benrey's behind him in an instant, leaning over to hold his hair back while Tommy promptly finds a washcloth and moves over to the sink, running it beneath the stream turned as hot as it can go.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    When Gordon finishes and slumps back against the tub, he's breathing like he's run a marathon, skin sweaty and pale, eyebrows furrowed like he's trying to concentrate. Tommy returns and sits beside him on the bathmat, carefully rubbing the cloth across his face, and Gordon leans heavily against her hand with a hitching sigh. She gently works away nearly two weeks' worth of grime, dirt, and blood, before wiping his mouth and tossing the washcloth into the hamper.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I like the pattern," Tommy murmurs absentmindedly, nodding in the direction of the basket. "Those are cosmos, right? My favorite flower is- actually, I think they're a, uh- a shrub, maybe not actually a flower at all, but my favorites are honeysuckle. There was a massive wall of them, right outside my- my house as a kid, so... they always make me think of home, of dad, and summers w-with him and Sunkist--" she interrupts herself, looking to the side with red-tinged cheeks. "Sorry, I-- I completely forgot where I was for a second."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Like hearing you talk," Benrey replies. "Could hear you talk forever..." They trail off with a yawn, resting their back against the sink cupboards and eyes drifting shut.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Stay awake, bud," Gordon chuckles, nudging their knee with his until they begrudgingly sit back up, then both him and Tommy bursting into laughter when Benrey immediately leans forward and rests their head atop folded arms on Tommy's lap.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Haven't seen a ton. Almost none in person," Benrey mumbles. "But there was one I remember super well. They're called bleeding hearts. Saw them in a magazine one of the other guys left in the break room. Thought they were nice, wondered if the colors were that bright in person..." they pause to look between Gordon and Tommy. "You think when we can, we can go someplace and see 'em? Wanna... wanna see those, and more. Wanna see honeysuckle, and-- what's yours, Gordo? Your favorite?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah, we can go, and uh... man, I've never really thought about it, I guess."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Tellin'- tellin' me no one's ever asked for your favorite? No one's bought you flowers, man? Unbelievable. If I was dating a dude <em>this</em> handsome you'd have to stop me from bringing him flowers <em>every</em> day." Benrey cackles when their words make Gordon go bright red, but they have mercy on him and move on. "Guess I'll just have to be the first and pick some up for you. You and Tommy both."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy laughs around a kiss laid on their forehead. "I don't th- think you'll find mine in any shops."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No?" Benrey hums in consideration, nestling a bit further into Tommy before turning their gaze back to Gordon. "So, what're yours? If you had to pick?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Mm... hydrangeas. There were these big bushes outside of my apartment in Seattle, and someone must've always been looking out for them, they were well taken care of. They were this super bright blue, and I remember--" Gordon laughs. "I remember scooting a chair close enough to the window while I worked on papers and shit just so I could look over every now and then and... watch 'em. Probably sounds pretty stupid."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's not stupid. I think it speaks to what you're like," Tommy begins softly. "You'll g- you'll go out of your way to notice the small things... things people would walk by without thinking about, but you find something in it worth paying attention to, you'll take the time to appreciate them... there're lots of things like that, that you do, I mean. Pretty incredible..." their last words leave their lips in a sigh, and Gordon's heart grows to feel fantastically light in response. It's not another second before he's pulling them towards a kiss, but he stops at the last second.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I, uh- I should probably brush my teeth before w- holy shit, <em>I get to brush my teeth.</em>" The other two laugh at his excited realization while Gordon jumps to his feet and grabs his toothbrush from the medicine cabinet, quickly overlaid with a <em>healthy</em> amount of toothpaste.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    While Gordon's busying himself with that, Tommy figures it best to get the shower started, and Benrey lays out their towels on the countertop before snapping and walking to the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Gonna need clothes. You okay if I grab 'em?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Yeah. No, that'd be fucking <em>great</em>, actually. My room's the last door on the right, and the bottom drawer of my dresser is all pajamas and old shirts. There might be... some stuff in smaller sizes? Some of my older shit? But, uh... most of it w- it'll be- pretty sure everything's gonna be big on both of you. Sorry." </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey grins as they dip out of the bathroom. "Hope you know that whatever shirt I pick out's mine now. You're not gettin' it back, <em>buddy."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Don't even joke, man!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey only cackles at him from down the hallway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy holds a testing hand beneath the stream as Gordon all but drapes himself over her back, mindlessly tracing freckles on her shoulder like connecting stars in a constellation until she laughs and nudges him up. Her eyes again land on the skin visible above his prosthetic, the deep burns that only grow darker the further down his arm they go, and she knows what to do. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    A million ribbons, a million strands, each leading to different beings, different timelines, Tommy seeks out the one that will lead to their father, regardless of where he currently stands in space and time.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>I know you're probably busy dealing with what's left of... all that,</em> Tommy begins. <em>But Gordon needs help. Medical help. He won't go to the hospital, though: he doesn't want to put the staff in danger, and he's worried about Black Mesa finding out that Benrey's still around, about what they would do. If... if there's anything you can do- I know there has to be- please, </em><b><em>please</em></b><em> do it. </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>    Of course, Tommy,</em> the response is almost instant. <em>I will make arrangements for Mr. Freeman, as well as considerations for the other members of his... party. How are you... faring?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> Tommy, for whatever reason, through whatever spacial fuckery Xen put out, was unable to rewind their clock, return their ruined shoulder to a time before, and they suspected their father was much in the same boat, otherwise, Tommy knows he would've done so for both themself and Gordon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>I can't go back. I don't know why. But I'm back to healing pretty quick- not like Benrey can, but... still good! I think I'm going to need help with it, though.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    I understand, Tommy. Well, good-bye for... now...</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>    Bye, dad.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> "Tommy? You kinda- kinda spaced out on me for a second there."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Hmm? Oh, sorry. Just tired," she reassures softly, and Gordon only nods slowly and presses close again, loosely looping his arms around her waist. Man, for someone already so physically affectionate, that's seemingly multiplied by a thousand when Gordon's sleepy. Every time Tommy shifts or moves, Gordon only clings on tighter as if she'll leave if he doesn't hold on. Tommy giggles, turning around in his arms to face him and angling his face up to shower it in little kisses. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    For a single, wonderful moment, it's as though Gordon is briefly able to shed his exhaustion when he laughs, the most genuine Tommy's ever heard it, strong and lovely as a bell, chiming through his tiny bathroom and through the walls and through Tommy, replacing the ache and hurt in their bones with warmth and comfort.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh, damn, I get left out of the kiss party?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey pushes open the door the rest of the way as they both laugh, shutting it behind themself after dropping a stack of clothes beside the sink. Gordon smiles when he notices it's entirely compromised of his softest shirts and pants, all ones he would've picked out himself, and he thanks them with his own array of kisses along their cheeks, their forehead, their nose, though a much clumsier version of Tommy's, Gordon thinks, but Benrey doesn't mind at all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Stepping into the shower, working body wash into a lather between calloused palms while they all hum a song they recognize and join in on when Tommy began it... it feels far too domestic, far too simple and good for everything they've been through. How much have they been changed in those twelve days? How does that change their experiences and what they mean? Are they still the same people they were? No, definitely not, but was that entirely a bad thing? So many questions, so many unknowns for what their lives will look like going forward. But for now, they have this, and it couldn't be more perfect, couldn't be a better reward for surviving and making it through. There's no place any of them would rather be.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Both Benrey and Tommy tease Gordon about his choice in body wash- warm sugar cookie- but their jabs quickly die out when the scent fully overtakes the humid air. They both think of how perfect it is, how it's just as warm and homey as Gordon. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy briefly imagines baking with Gordon and Benrey, how much of a mess they'd probably make, the three of them together. In truth, they would love to bake cookies even now, exhaustion and injury be damned. They're sure Benrey's never had them before, at least not homemade and warm, and they can definitely see Gordon as the type to eat more dough than the finished product itself, and Tommy grins at the thought. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Benrey thinks of the packaged cookies from the break room's vending machines, wonders how much better they'd be made from scratch, made by the two of them, wonders if they smell as good as the body wash makes them out to be, wonders how many cookies they'd be able to steal before Gordon would put them up on a shelf they couldn't reach. Benrey holds back a laugh at the thought. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon wonders about what kind of cookie they'd each like the best. He has Tommy made out to be more of a snickerdoodle fan, and thinks Benrey would love pumpkin cookies with the cream cheese glaze Gordon always covers them in liberally, and when he realizes that he's got all the time in the world to figure out if he's right or not, he smiles at the thought.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon grins wider when imaging just how many things he could make for them- from breakfasts to desserts, how he could share his favorite restaurants and takeout joints, how he would do all he can to give them both things they didn't have before, to have them experience all things new and good.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It's not just the thoughts alone that feel good, that feel right to think, it's the realization that they can <em>have</em> this now. They can have a life filled with the sweeter things, the simple luxuries of homemade cookies baked together, of cozy afternoons and evenings filled with no other sounds than their own voices, of visits to a massive garden where they can take all the time in the world, walking and admiring the flowers as long as they'd like. This is no longer a passing thought in between gunfire, a hope for a future that slowly seems further and further away, a fleeting wish while bleeding out and consciousness fading- it's a reality. A reality they can have together.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The rest of the shower is quiet, only interspersed with gentle humming or idle conversation about anything and everything- the night sky, their favorite things, Sunkist... the novelty of getting to indulge in things so simple and trivial compared to their previous normal of considering life and death every moment, every minute, is too fantastic not to partake in. They carefully pass over each other's cuts and bruises as they go, purposefully avoiding glancing at the shower floor and the horrible shades the water running toward the drain is colored. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon's shampoo has no particular scent, it's just strong and clean and infinitely better than blood and decay, so they end up using almost half the bottle between the three of them, briefly joking about how they're going to have to buy a new bottle every day if they keep using it like this, and Gordon thinks about how he wouldn't mind it for a second, thinks of what a small price to pay it would be if it meant more moments like this one. He uses just a little bit more.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    When Benrey reaches around Gordon for the conditioner, they're at direct eye level with the dark burn on his left shoulder, where they figure the bolt first made contact, and their face contorts into a grimace. Tommy notices and mentally dials in on Benrey.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>Dad's getting it sorted now. As soon as everything's good to go, we'll get him there. It's gonna be okay</em>, Tommy promises. Benrey glances up and gives them a nearly unnoticeable nod, and focuses back into the present.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Both Benrey and Tommy end up needing to help Gordon labor through his hair if they have any hope of finishing before the sun rises, both so gentle as they work through knots and tangles that Gordon all but melts into every instance of touch. God, he hasn't had someone so lovingly run their fingers through his hair in <em>years,</em> let alone <em>two</em> someones<em>.</em> He's stumbled plenty since stepping in, but Gordon wavers much harder now, eyelids feeling the heaviest they have since he fought to stay conscious through blood loss. Benrey and Tommy would be endeared were it not for the many, many wounds staring back at them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Stay with us, Gordon," Tommy speaks softly, trying to keep the slight tinge of panic out of their voice as their fingers stutter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Almost done," Benrey murmurs, continuing to negotiate snarls after slinging one of Gordon's arms over their shoulder.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon tries to mumble out some sort of reply, but it's nonsense to his ears, so he's sure it must be complete gibberish to Benrey and Tommy. He keeps snapping back awake from the light doze he continues slipping into until the water's shut off. Even hardly conscious, Gordon takes note of how carefully they guide him out, with effort and consideration only given to something important, and he thinks that <em>man,</em> that'll take a long time to get used to. At that, Gordon begins to sniffle, sighing and letting just a bit more of his weight rest amidst their hands.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Tommy stands in front of him now, tenderly brushing a tear beneath his eye with her thumb, and fixes him with a look so openly filled with admiration and love that Gordon suddenly drops his head down as he tries and fails to swallow a sob.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "It's okay," Tommy quietly insists. "It- it's okay, Gordon."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "No, c'mon, bro. Gonna make me cry, too," Benrey chuckles, but it's forced and ends in a taper as they towel his hair dry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Through blurry eyes and shaky hands, they manage to help each other into their pajamas. Gordon smiles wide when seeing the shirt Benrey picked for Tommy is an old band shirt in a rich, sunflower yellow, and he decides then and there that if ever, or whenever, he buys clothes for Tommy, they'll never be in any other color but that. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon almost takes himself out with a round of wheezing laughter when he sees the shirt Benrey picked for themself- a white tee parodying the "thank you" store bags, but the "thank you"s have been replaced with "send memes". Gordon only ever bought it because it was discounted at a dollar and the fabric's more comfortable than it has any right being, but leave it to Benrey to find the most atrocious piece of clothing he owns.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Lastly, Gordon finds himself unspeakably happy that Benrey picked out his old MIT sweatshirt for him. Even years old, it’s still wonderfully soft and cozy. Him and that shirt have been through a lot together, put it like that. Gordon can't count how many college-induced panic attacks he's spent in it, a habit he's carried over into his late twenties. A habit, he thinks bitterly, he'll carry on much longer than that, after Black Mesa.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Almost as if sensing his mood's soured, Tommy trails a hand up his back and moves it around to come up and rest on his jaw, and all at once, his head is tipped upward and she's pulling him into a kiss. It's short, but it's no less purposeful than any other time they've come together. For that fleeting instance, Gordon's mind can't help but wander to the full spectrum of emotion he's felt with her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Wonderful overwhelm the first time Tommy ever asked if they could kiss, where Gordon could never have answered yes faster. Boundless fondness the first time Gordon asked permission, the wonderful pull between the two of them when they connected. Aching love when they kissed in the storeroom, Gordon more sure than not that that would be the last chance he got. Hope for change when lips met after the car explosion, where amidst ruin and the walls caving in around them, there was a solid foundation, a place to build anew. Uncertainty somehow feeling comfortable, in that it was uncertainty shared together, knowing they'd soon be staring down a teleporter to another world. Determination in finality, unknowing of the ultimate outcome of their final fight on Xen, but resolve to face it, if it meant facing it together.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Once they separate, Gordon hears Benrey chuckle to themself, and before he can ask why, they've looped a towel around his waist and are pulling him in. Gordon can only smile against their lips once they're pressed to his.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    From the time they met, Gordon's associated Benrey with color. Every kind, every shade and tint and hue, and that's just how he thinks of them now. Shadowed blues and grays and streaks of red in the small clinic, where Benrey pulled him in and clung to him like one would the rim of a lifeboat, possibly in the belief they were taking a chance that would be the last one given. Saturated reds and oranges and purples from the storeroom, Benrey so surprised at Gordon's remembrance and even further surprised when they connected. Soft indigo and violet tints cast over mounds of rubble and rock, a steep contrast to the stability and growth springing forward from Benrey's words and following contact. Off-white of bandages and deep, abyssal blacks of their eyes, a kiss that, when Gordon regards it now, felt more like a goodbye than he realized it was at the time, ache panging throughout his chest at the thought. Grays and blues of a dimly-lit locker room displaced from space and time, a warmer color painting their chests when they meet, when they speak wordlessly of the promise of choice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Recollecting all of this, it's more than just being back in his apartment for Gordon to fully understand that he's home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    It's actually Benrey who brings up the idea of dinner first. Dinner at 3:48 in the morning is dinner nonetheless, Gordon reasons, and he scours his pantry while adamantly <em>refusing</em> to acknowledge any other part of the kitchen. Vegetable stock... crushed tomatoes... wait. <em>Wait.</em> Gordon practically bounces on his feet as he runs the short ingredient list through his head. Never has he been more thrilled at the prospect of tomato soup. He's sure he would ignore the spoon entirely in favor of chugging it, burn his mouth horribly in the process, and <em>god,</em> it sounds perfect. Gordon finally works up the nerve to open his fridge with soup on the line and he's almost certain the heavy cream he bought keeps until next month.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon counts down from five, hikes his shirt up over his nose, ignores Benrey laughing at him, and throws the fridge door open. The second his hand closes around the carton, his hip slams the door shut as Gordon turns and slides back against it. As soon as he glances to Benrey and Tommy, who are just watching this scene unfold, they all burst into laughter. The kind where they have to lean on each other for support and their faces hurt from smiling so wide. They only manage to stop after something thuds from below, followed by a muffled strand of expletives that serve as a less than gentle reminder of the time. Gordon's sure that there's one hell of a noise complaint in the works, and he couldn't be happier. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thinks, and once the soup's left to simmer, he heads into his bedroom only to return with his laptop and a diabolical grin as he clicks open his music library.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The next fifteen minutes are complete tonal whiplash, songs bouncing from They Might Be Giants to The Commodores to Lemon Demon and even to the Stardew Valley OST before they land on a song from Steam Powered Giraffe.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Oh- hey, don't skip, please," Gordon calls over to Benrey while he stirs. "I really like this one."</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Huh?" Benrey speaks before his words register, and they suddenly fall quiet as does Tommy once the lyrics begin.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    <em>"You didn't have to look my way,"</em> Gordon sings along, eyes closing gently as he sways to the tempo. <em>"Your eyes still haunt me to this day. But you did. Yes, you did."</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> The words that follow are almost completely tuned out to Benrey and Tommy's ears as they're both utterly transfixed on Gordon. His voice is low, grated and raspy with what the last twelve days have wrought, but it still holds something so subdued and sweet alongside all its exhausted magnificence. His voice conveys the type of gentle sincerity that can only be carried when someone sings a song they love, when someone recounts their fondest memory, when someone talks of another they love dearly. They're entirely enraptured watching him. Gordon, bandaged heavily from head to toe, bruised and swollen and broken Gordon, who's survived and returned home after an alien invasion that claimed the lives of hundreds, in his kitchen singing softly and stirring a massive pot of tomato soup. The sight is surreal. It's dreamlike. It's absolutely perfect.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    The rest of the night is just as unbelievable and good. Between the five of them, all clad in Gordon's old clothes and smelling like sugar cookies, the pot's completely drained within half an hour. They spend another short while afterward talking, talking of nothing and everything, and only when they're all too tired to form words coherently do they finally relent and head to bed. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Gordon shows the two older men the guest room before he and his partners stumble to his. Benrey's first to crawl beneath his comforter, curled in on themself more than one would think comfortable, and is barely able to stay awake long enough to see Gordon and Tommy lay down. Gordon winds up in the middle, and Tommy on the side of the bed beside the nightstand. The lamp is left on in a silent understanding, a wordless agreement, but it's soft and warm and ideal as they all began to drift off in a tangle of arms and legs, amidst an ocean of quiet rhythm consisting of gentle breaths in and out, mumbled "goodnight"s and "I love you"s, and the soft, barely audible background hum of appliances and electronics.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Morning light extends gentle tendrils between the gaps in Gordon's curtains, and with it comes the understanding that he's alive. He's done it, he's made it through the end of the world, and he's here, and he'll get to live through a hundred, a thousand more mornings like this one. He's sure that they'll head out to a hospital as soon as they wake, more sure that it's probably going to be the most fun he's ever had in a hospital if it's with the four of them, but Gordon realizes he's actually looking forward to it. Looking forward to anything and everything if it means getting to experience it with all of them, looking forward to the many small adventures life will grant them, and never being happier in considering the future and all its unknowns. Because he knows that whatever he'll face, it'll be beside two people he's fallen for hard and fast.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Everything is right when Gordon finally falls asleep in their arms.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here we are! I hope this is a sufficient and satisfying way to wrap the story up. Thank you so much to everyone who's followed this work from chapter one, or for people who've just stumbled across this after we've reached the end! The comments, kudos, all the support that's been given is the only reason this story was completed, and I genuinely can't thank everyone enough for encouraging me to create something I can look back on and be proud of. It's been fun! Thank you again.</p><p>I have other ideas, mostly for one-offs, but if anyone has suggestions about what they'd like to see, I'd be interested in hearing about 'em! You could let me know in a comment, or you could lemme know at my HLVRAI sideblog- peeperpuppyden. One last time- thank you for everything! It's been a fun time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>